Brown Study
by littlesecret84
Summary: Bella's dreams have a way of coming true. But what will she do when the man she dreams of appears in her life as a boy who is less than ideal? Will finding him mean losing her BFF, Jane? Does knowing the future change the present? Rated M for adult stuff.
1. Two girls

**Brown Study: a mood of deep absorption or thoughtfulness; reverie**

***I do not own Twilight. If I did, I would be off doing deplorable things with shady people with the money I made***

I can't help but giggle as Jane continues to flick the tiny stone hanging from my bellybutton.

"I can't believe you did it! You are so brave!"

It tickles and I laugh.

"I am so grounded if my parents find out. Okay, we're done with mine, lemme see yours," I say, grabbing her shirt and lifting it up just enough for me to see her piercing.

"See? Nothing girly like yours, Bella. Although I think I love the one you got."

My best friend's stomach is a little flatter than mine, and way tanner. We turn and look towards my bedroom door to make sure no one is lurking around before we lift our shirts again to get another look at what we've done. It was something we decided to do one day while watching an old Britney Spears video on YouTube. We wondered why it's no longer as popular as it used to be, and decided to bring it back. Why not?

Even though we had planned to get it done together, we couldn't, because Jane's parents decided to take her on a cross-country road trip all summer and except for the week I spent in Phoenix with my Aunt Liz, I was stuck in Forks. Aunt Liz has the coolest tattoos and piercings. Jane and I spent the summer texting back and forth and calling each other every night. When I was in Phoenix I mentioned the idea to my aunt, and she agreed to take me. I let Jane know I wasn't going to wait until my eighteenth birthday like we had planned. All I had to do was promise Aunt Liz that I'd never let her big brother – my dad – know she was involved. So Jane and I got our bellybuttons pierced on the same day, but thousands of miles apart.

We go back to school in two days to start our senior year of high school, and since Jane just got back this morning, we aren't spending a minute apart this weekend. There is a lot to catch up on. Well, not really, but we're used to hanging out every day.

"Okay. So. We need to discuss Peter. Bella, what happened?" Jane's hand is on my arm, dragging me to the bed. We sit across from each other and I take a deep breath before responding.

"Nothing happened. I just knew… I mean, what's the point?" I avoid her eyes because I know the accusatory look she's giving me. She has been giving me this same look for over thirteen years now.

"Bellaaa, just because you know he's not Hat Guy, doesn't mean you can't have fun and date him."

"It's not about that. He was just…" I stop talking before I overshare. Jane gets annoyed when I overshare.

"Just what, Bella?" she asks.

"Ok, don't go all 'TMI, Bella' on me," I warn.

"Just tell meee."

"Fine, he just… it didn't feel good with him. Like, nothing felt good with him. Everything was… meh."

"Meh," she repeats.

"Meh." I nod.

"Alright, was it as bad as it was with Seth?" Jane asks.

I shake my head. "Nothing is as bad as it was with Seth. Anyway, I was obviously exaggerating. It wasn't _bad_ with Peter… it was just… he couldn't make me, you know."

Jane's eyes open wide. She looks away, playing with her bracelet and suddenly looking very glum.

"Oh."

"I mean he could. But like, only by mounting me and rubbing up against me for the longest time. Which is awesome, but… never with his fingers or his – "

"Don't." Jane shudders. "I really don't want to know about Peter and his…"

"I was gonna say mouth." I laugh.

"Gross Bella, that's even worse!"

"Whatever, prude."

"Slut."

I throw my old bear at her. "Omg! I'm not a slut. I've made out with what? Three guys?"

Jane throws the bear back at me. "So you're still…"

"Yes, I'm still a virgin. I guess."

She lets out a deep breath and seems relieved.

"What does that even mean?"

Now I'm hiding behind the fucking bear. "I haven't had sex. But I've done everything but. And I'm technically not a virgin," I explain.

"I haven't even been kissed. How is it that everything happens to you?" Jane complains. "All the guys want you."

Yeah, right. Jane is beautiful. She's much prettier than me, but isn't half as friendly. We were both the shy kids growing up, which is how we became friends. She just stayed shy. Maybe shy is not the right word. Jane is just antisocial.

"Well, you turn everyone down. Seth asked you out first, and you rejected him. Peter is not your type, and well, I'm pretty sure you'd rather not be kissing your own brother."

"We're not discussing you and Jasper again. So… wrong!"

I giggle. "Jasper's a good kisserrrrrr…" I sing. "Also, his – "

"No. No. No."

Jane covers her ears with her hands and rolls onto her side. She hates hearing about the summer Jasper and I fooled around. We were just experimenting. Two fifteen year olds having fun. Unfortunately, once Jane found out about her best friend and twin brother, she refused to speak to either of us for a month.

When she finally opens her eyes and looks at me, I laugh, this time throwing a pillow at her.

"Come on, it's time to go," I say.

"Yeah, let's do this."

Jane and I run down the stairs and out of the house, jumping into my truck to spend one last day at the beach. It's a little chilly but we'll get to show off our piercings and have some fun. We end up having a good time, meeting a group of local boys who are clearly into Jane and make her blush. She ends up ignoring them and I am yelling at her on our way back to the truck when I get a little carried away jumping around. The next thing I know, Jane is dragging me into the ER because my ankle hurts like a motherfucker.

I sit there patiently waiting for a doctor to see me. My foot is in Jane's lap and she is telling me stupid stories to get my mind off the pain. She already called my mother who is on her way from Port Angeles, where she spent the day shopping.

"So, any new dreams?" Jane asks.

I sigh. "Nothing new…"

"Bullshit, Isabella. You've been having more of them, I can tell. Have you been seeing more of him?"

I have, but I'm not sure I want to talk about it yet.

"Nothing different, the same stuff," I tell her.

"Just you guys hanging out, walking around?"

"Yes. Nothing else. I swear I'd tell you," I assure her.

Jane sighs. "Why are these dreams so special then? I mean…"

I stop her before she can deliver one of her special lectures.

"We've been through this. I just know. Just like I knew about Jasper and that Maria girl. Like I knew you'd fall from the roof that day. Don't look at me like that, I told you it would happen two years before it did and that was not a coincidence. I just know he's…"

Jane interrupts me. "You're so silly, Bella Swan. But I believe you. He's it."

I nod.

"So, tell me about the new dreams. You may be sorta psychic, but I know a lie when I hear one." She smiles.

I smile back, wincing when I feel the pain in my ankle where Jane's hand accidentally brushed against it.

"Well," I start, "he kisses me. And…"

"And?"

"And every time I see it my heart explodes."

"Oh," she says.

"Uh huh." I blush.

Jane reaches out and pinches my cheek. I slap her hand away.

"So, describe it. I want to draw it," she says.

I think of the dozens of drawings she has done of the man I've described to her. I have one in my favorite book that doesn't leave its spot on my bedside table.

"Same. Same smile. Same nose. Same jaw. Same stupid hat. His eyes close when he laughs, and he almost looks like a little boy."

He is also tall, and I am always looking up at him. His Adam's apple is big, and I swear it's always telling me to kiss it. There is hair on his chest which I can see peeking out of his thin white t-shirt. He doesn't shave too often because there's always a fascinating amount of scruff. His fingers are long and they are always on me. His eyes make my heart beat faster.

"So he looks the same…"

"Yep." I smile shyly. Jane is my best friend and the only one I discuss these things with, but it still feels somewhat silly talking to her about this man I "see" once in a while.

_Actually, Bella, lately it's been almost every night._

Jane stretches and puts her very long, blonde hair into a bun. "Well, at least you know what's in store for you, right?"

I do. I have no doubt. My dreams have never failed me. Jane doesn't know the half of it, really. It's mostly little things I see, I feel, I dream. It's like I'm hyper-aware of everything, I know stuff a minute before it happens. And then the major dreams… those still freak me out. They just come to me, no matter where I am. But lately, it's just him. Hat Guy. And it's always at night. And the warmth I feel in my body when I "see" him is incomparable to anything else. Peter would kiss me for hours and I didn't feel the tingles deep inside me that I feel when Hat Guy's lips finally touch my skin. Why would I want a boyfriend who doesn't make me feel one one-hundredth of what I feel with someone I see in visions? I think I should just wait for him to show up.

Unfortunately, I don't think he shows up until I'm older. My hair is shorter, I look like I'm twenty-three, twenty-four. I wear boring clothes people wear to work and always tie my hair back. He finds me in some room I always sit in, which I assume is the living room in my apartment someday. Sometimes we are in a big classroom instead. The classroom is full of students, but I don't think we are in college since there are a lot of older people present. One thing that makes me sad is that I never see Jane, and Jane is always in my dreams. I wonder where she is in the future. A Janeless future. I can't even imagine not being around my best friend.

After reminding me for the fortieth time since I first "saw" Hat Guy to Google the hat and find out which team's logo is on it, Jane starts humming a sad melody. I close my eyes and try to picture it, but can't remember the letters or words. Was there a picture? I don't think so. It can't be that important, anyway. I'd recognize him anywhere, hat or no hat. _Right?_ Maybe.

Jane is still humming and I am lost in my thoughts when someone appears from behind the curtain.

"Isabella Swan?"

I look up and gasp. Jane's hand clutches my arm. It's trembling.

The smile. The jaw. The nose. The eyebrows. The... the…

"I'm Dr. Cullen. Let's see that ankle of yours."

**There you go. Feel free to ask me questions, leave me your thoughts, anything you'd like. Reviews for a first chapter are great. I would really appreciate them. Also, my friends won't have to listen to me bitch about the lack of feedback 24/7 if you review. Have pity on them.**

**Speaking of friends, I'd like to remind all of you that WriteOnTime and Kassiah are amazing. They truly are.**

**I'd like to thank them, as well as Jadedandboring and Snshyne, for reading this for me and letting me talk about it for weeks. The same goes for GiveUsAkiss413 and Spargelkun. They are all probably sick of me at this point.**

**And a major shout-out to my Nutella girls: writeontime, ciaobella27, spanglemaker9, the-glory-days, and TallulahBelle. Do you read their stuff? You should.**

**Let me know what you think :)**


	2. Monday morning

**Wow – you guys are amazing. Your response to this was truly astonishing. I'm glad you enjoyed it! Here is the second chapter. I won't be updating daily – I think I'll settle into weekly updates soon – but I had this ready and wanted to share. I hope you like it.**

**Thanks to WriteOnTime for being the bestest beta ever (you should edit that).**

***I don't own Twilight. I sorta steal***

Before Jane and I can react to the appearance of Dr. Cullen, my mother runs in and grabs me, pressing her lips to my forehead and talking in baby speak. I try to move my head to get a better look at this man, this very familiar-looking man, but my face is in her chest and for the first time in my life I push her away.

"Mom! Relax. I sprained my ankle or something, it's no big deal," I manage to get out in a low whisper. I feel the heat in my cheeks and can't look up for the life of me. I'm not ready to see this man.

But Jane is.

Her mouth has formed a curious "O" - just like it did every time my mom offered her a muffin or a brownie when we were young. Her parents are very strict, so every new sweet she tried was like a whole new world for her. She would stare at the treat for a few minutes with that same expression on her face, until she'd finally open her mouth, and -

"Dr. Cullen, Bella fell on our way to her truck on the beach. I think she sprained her ankle. I hope that's all it is, but it looks pretty bad."

I hear his voice again and my stomach tightens.

"Well, if Bella's mother lets her go for a second, I can take a look."

I'm in a daze but sort of aware that my mother is now standing next to me, touching me but not holding onto me like I'm about to run away and never come back. Jane's hand is on my right wrist, and the doctor is silent, touching my foot, my ankle. There is some pain, maybe a lot but I can't be sure, and some more stuff happens and everyone is talking but me.

"Bella, listen to what Dr. Cullen has to say. Stop daydreaming, sweetheart." My mother's round brown eyes are pleading with me, like they do all day, begging me to stop, listen, pay attention, not to wander off for hours into my la-la land. I smile to reassure her and tell her I am listening, and it's so easy to fool her, because she smiles back. She's beaming.

Ten minutes later we are walking out of the hospital - well, I'm actually hobbling and being supported by Jane, who hasn't let me go for a second. I need to talk to her, have to talk to her, but I know I can't say anything in front of my mother. I used to tell my mother about my dreams, and she would giggle, tell me to write them down, and then she would tell her friends about my wonderful imagination. I was going to be an amazing writer one day because I had created this entire world in my head. She was so proud. I stopped talking when I turned thirteen, realizing that unless I started producing these "writings", I would end up in an institution for being completely batshit crazy in no time.

"Jane, would you drive Bella's truck back for her? Thank you dear," my mother says, taking me away from Jane, who gives me a look that says 'we'll discuss this later'. Her cheeks are flushed and she's excited, or upset. I can't really tell because that is usually a sign of excitement, but the tiny frown on her face tells me otherwise.

I'm told not to walk around or put my weight on my ankle for a couple of days. That's going to be easy, considering that I'll be back in school on Monday. I'll just hop and skip and hobble around. Jane won't let me fall.

"Bella, you are so lucky. Dr. Cullen is the new doctor who moved into town. He's quite handsome, isn't he? I wanted to ask some questions but it seemed inappropriate at the time, especially once that nurse walked in. The girls and I have been wondering if he has a wife, any kids? He bought that modern-looking eyesore that the Stanleys built before they realized they couldn't afford it. If the doctor has a wife, we have to ask her to join - "

Wife? If the doctor has a wife? What if he does have a wife? Why do I care? I have to think. Close my eyes and think. Take out the drawings and think. I'm pretty sure there was something completely off about the doctor. For starters, there was no baseball cap. But he wouldn't wear one in the hospital. He looked a little older, too. I didn't get a chance to look at his eyebrows closely, but they were a little different. What am I even thinking? The man had to be forty, right? Why do I care about a forty-year-old doctor? But if he does have a wife...

I have to stop.

"What I don't understand is why he is so reclusive. He's been here for two weeks already - that's when the moving trucks started bringing his things over. You can't really tell how many people there are living in the house because it's so secluded and you can't simply drive by to find out. I'm not trying to pry, it's just that the community wants to know who is living among us. There aren't too many of us and we don't want unsavory types coming into our lives. In fact, - "

I close my eyes and stop listening. I adore my mother, but she talks so much. She is incredibly sweet, caring, a total mama bear, but she drives me crazy. She drives my father crazy, too. Everything is always perfect. Dinner is always on the table. It's always a little too much, she's always a little too much. But we love her because she is home. So when we get out of the car and she helps me walk to the door, I grab her soft, plump arm and give her a kiss on the cheek. I love holding onto this part of my mother, and you can see how happy the little bit of affection I show makes her. I let her keep talking and rest my foot on her lap when we are sitting on the couch. When we hear Jane arrive in my truck, she quickly gets up to make us something to eat. She decides on grilled cheese sandwiches, which are Jane's favorite. She promises to put some mayo in mine, which is a little gross but delicious. Then she pops her head into the living room one more time to tell me that she'll make some tomato basil soup too, since my dad loves it and should be home any second.

It's too warm for soup, but I'm hungry and can't wait. I shout the news of the soup and sandwich to Jane, who exclaims that it sounds glorious, and rushes over to envelop me in a hug.

"Bella. Did you see that?"

I nod.

"Bella... I was just looking at some of the sketches in my notebook, and wait, let me get them out... You were about 75% correct about most of his features. But I think he's older than in your dreams, and the hat was covering his eyebrows? But everything else, wow. Didn't you say he had green eyes? Dr. Cullen's were blue."

"Wait, so you noticed it too. I knew you did, but I was too busy freaking out. We have to find out. How _old _is he?"

"Does it matter? You'll be eighteen in a week! It's not like you're sixteen or something."

"Eww, Jane. What does this even mean? There is no way that Dr. Cullen is Hat Guy."

But he is. I'd recognize those features anywhere. And he felt familiar. I close my eyes for a second trying to remember where he had those moles I trace in my dreams. On his neck? Behind his ear? I wonder if I can get a closer look at Dr. Cullen sometime. Maybe ask him to wear a hat for me. Jane's hand on my knee snaps me out of my little trance, and I listen to her again.

"Okay, maybe he has a younger brother. Oh wait, it would have to be his twin. But that doesn't make any sense either. He looks a little older than what you described. Wait, I'm going to draw him."

Jane grabs her notebook from her bag and starts drawing, but we are interrupted by my mother, who brings us food and drinks and turns on the TV to give us something to do. She sits in the adjoining dining area, so Jane and I can't continue our conversation. Instead, we watch _Love Actually_ until I fall asleep with my foot propped up on the armrest, and my head in Jane's lap.

XxXxX

The Whitlocks made Jane spend Sunday at home and we sent over two hundred texts back and forth trying to decide what to do about Dr. Cullen and Hat Guy. I'm glad my parents let me add unlimited texts to my plan. I'm a little addicted, and sometimes it's not just Jane I text. With Peter we got into a habit of texting every dirty thing that popped into our heads. When I first met Peter, I had "seen" Hat Guy just a few times. They were just images of him, and I never dwelled on them. I didn't really spend any time thinking about who he was, what he represented.

Peter and I dated for over six months. Three months into the whole thing the images became more vivid, the dreams became more frequent. I would get lost in them, and then float around in this magical haze. I felt light and warm and slightly intoxicated after every dream. The things I felt during the few moments I "spent" with Hat Guy made me doubt everything I ever felt with Peter, or my first boyfriend, Seth. Both were great guys, neither one of them ever hurt me. The thing is, I don't think I hurt them either. There was always something missing, so when I ended things with them they were a little disappointed, but I think they understood.

With Peter, it all came to an end the night we had planned to go all the way. Sex is something I want to try. Soon. I won't pretend that I want it to be special, or amazing. I'm just very curious. I won't lie – I enjoy every single thing I do with boys (who are not Seth). I enjoy the kisses, the touches. I enjoy the way my body loses control, and orgasms are like precious jewels to me. I love them and cherish them and want more, more, more. I love the rush I feel when I am close to making the guy I'm with come. I remember the first time with Jasper. The way he looked right before my hand was covered in sticky stuff. I loved it and I knew it was something I wanted to do over and over again.

So yeah, I'm a little obsessed with sex, even though I've never actually done it. And I was so close too, naked under Peter, my hand on him and bringing him closer, until it hit me. Peter never actually felt that good to me. Why would I have sex with _him_? And he looked so eager, so desperate. I pretended to freak out, I apologized, and then when he made it clear that he was annoyed, I told him it's over.

Because the truth is that once I had dreamt of Hat Guy kissing me, it was over between us. It's simple. I know there is something out there that's wonderful. Better than anything else. I can wait for it, I can be a little patient. Why have an ok experience with a random guy when I know that there is a better one out there? And I know Hat Guy is better.

Hat Guy/Dr. Cullen/Dr. Cullen's twin kisses me and I touch heaven. Even the thought of the dreams or images has me soaring and sighing and my heart beats so fast. Every time we kiss he smiles against my lips, like he has just found something great, uncovered a secret that's just for him. We open our eyes at the same time and stare like it's the first time, every time. How could that compare to anything else?

And he holds my hand. And I feel pride. Comfort. Joy. Not just joy. I'm euphoric. And his hands are beautiful. And I have kissed them so many times. And shit, I should have stared at Dr. Cullen's hands but was so freaked out that I focused on everything but his skin, the longer fingers I'm sure I would have noticed had I actually paid any attention to them.

So it's Monday morning, and I'm running late because I am waiting for Jasper and Jane to pick me up. Jasper is always late. When they finally stop in front of the house my mother gives me one last kiss before Jasper is half-carrying me to the car. He tickles me and makes me laugh, making fun of my ankle, and whispering that he can't wait to see my bellybutton. I smack his arm but laugh along with him and Jane all the way to school. The second we are out of the car I groan, realizing that we are back, and that we have to deal with this place for an entire year.

"Bella," Jane says, "pull your skirt down. Mrs. Cope warned you and I don't want you to end up having to wear the gym uniform all semester. It's disgusting and no one will even look at you."

I sigh and pull my skirt down just a little. Jasper smirks.

"Yeah, Bella. We like seeing your legs. Don't punish the entire male, and some of the female, population of the school just because you like your skirts short enough to get you punished. If you feel that compelled to show off more skin, you can always give us a little show in class. Like you used to do when we were freshmen. Ah, the good old days."

Jane smacks Jasper in the head and grabs my arm, leading me to our first class. He is such a perv, but my favorite kind of perv. He's not ashamed of it and the way he delivers his perviness makes everyone comfortable. He is very unlike the other guys our age, who make you want to throw up in your mouth every time they say something borderline-pervy.

Maybe I'm the biggest perv of them all. This would explain how much I love Jasper's comments and jokes.

"Bella, let's see. I have to take you to double English now. It's on my way to – "

I stop her.

"We don't have English together?" This can't be happening.

Jane bites her bottom lip, just like I do when I'm nervous or about to freak the fuck out.

"I had to take art with Mr. Banner and…"

"Oh." Of course, it's the only time it's offered.

"Bella, it's ok. We have almost everything else together. And they'd never let me into your special advanced English class." Jane is talking very fast, she's almost frantic. I place an arm on her shoulder to calm her down.

"Don't worry, just walk me over. I'll meet someone there."

Jane and I greet and make small-talk with a few people on our way to class. A sea of white shirts and grey skirts or pants. Most seniors have given up on ties, I'm not even wearing the shirt. Jane and I are in white t-shirts, hers is tucked in, mine is messier. Even the little pocket over my left boob is torn. I have very little to work with, and I like the "I don't care" look. I pull my skirt back up a little right before entering the classroom, knowing that Mrs. Cope won't see me in there.

"Ok, I'll see you in chem, Bella."

I take my bag from Jane and open the door.

"Always late, Miss Swan." I stop myself from rolling my eyes at Ms. Denali. She's a wonderful teacher, but can be very annoying. But it's true, I'm always late to my early morning classes.

"I apologize, Ms. Denali. As you can see, I was injured and I'm having a little trouble getting around." I smile.

"I'll let it slide since it's the first day. Go find an empty seat. There is one next to one of our new students in the back row. Miss Cullen, consider yourself lucky. Miss Swan is my best student and will make sure you are happy here amongst the rest of us. We are like a little family, aren't we Miss Swan?"

Oh Tanya, I'm not listening to a word you're saying.

Who the fuck is Miss Cullen?

And then I see her.

Miss Cullen is beautiful. Kind of almost fat, but really beautiful. She has the sweetest smile on her face, and longer, blonder hair than Jane's. She has the same blue eyes Dr. Cullen has, but they look nothing alike.

Is she his daughter? He looks too young to have a daughter my age.

They can't be married – she's in high school!

Is she his sister? She's probably his sister.

Oh poor girl, the shirt is a little too tight on her. And not in a good way. I have to tell her that she can wear her own shirts and not the crap the school sells.

I can't take my eyes off Miss Cullen as I take my seat next to her. She probably thinks I'm crazy, or that I am a lesbian. Maybe, and who knows? I could be a lesbian –girls are pretty. But I really like boys. A lot. Maybe I'll turn out to be bi or something.

My brain hurts.

"Alright, now that Miss Swan is settled and all is right in the world again, let us begin. We have two new students joining us this year, and they are actually related. Miss Cullen is a junior, and just moved to Forks from New York, I believe. We also have her cousin here. Mr. Cullen? Raise your hand and let everyone know where you are. Mr. Cullen is a senior, and he also just moved here from New York. Let's welcome them both to Forks."

Every pair of eyes in the classroom moves from Miss Cullen to a slumped figure sitting immediately in front of us. I see a neck and messy brown hair, and when I notice the fingers that start rubbing the back of this very pretty neck, time stops.

**So… thoughts? Let me know what you think. Reviews are always appreciated. I would be happy to send you a teaser for the next chapter. Thank you for reading!**


	3. I stare a lot

**Thank you Writeontime for your beta services. You are wonderful.**

**A big shout-out to the rest of the Nutella gang – spanglemaker9, ciaobella27, the-glory-days, and tallulahbelle. You guys are so much fun.**

**I want to thank Kassiah, who asked HeatherDawn to create a banner for Brown Study – it's beautiful, and it's up on the story's Twilighted thread. I'd also like to thank Heather for taking the time to make the banner.**

***I do not own Twilight. I have $220,000 in student loans and a tiny apartment I can't afford. In fact, I own nothing of substance. Go me.***

I just sit for the entire first period and stare.

These fingers have been on me before. Or they will be on me in the future. In ten yfears? Five years? Next month? Fifty-five minutes? Because class ends in fifty-five minutes and maybe I can trick him into putting those fingers on me just for a second? Maybe two. Maybe he won't want to remove them. Maybe I need to see his face before I start planning a future that starts in fifty-four minutes, because I don't know who this boy is and I can't be sure it's him, and if it's not, I know I will be terribly disappointed because I want to blow on his neck and see how the little hairs there react. And I want to make him sit straighter, because the way he's slumped over is terrible for his posture.

Hat Guy has excellent posture. So if this is Hat Guy, at some point he learns to sit up straight. I wonder if I get to teach him, or maybe he's just tired right now. It's very early and I hate mornings too. Does he hate mornings? That would explain why he is sitting like that.

I can't stop staring at the back of his neck and then it hits me. His moles. I can see his moles if I move. He has moles on his neck, by his hairline, right? I close my eyes and try to picture them but I can't get their exact position. I realize that I don't need to close my eyes and picture anything because they are right here in front of me.

Two moles.

The ones I know.

The ones I have kissed.

The ones I have licked.

Yeah, I'm gross.

I sit back and take a deep breath. Ms. Denali asks me a question and I answer it. Everyone in the room turns back and looks at me, except for him. He sits there, never moving. Never speaking. Ms. Denali asks me to read a passage out loud, so I read it. She asks Miss Cullen to continue, and I feel bad when I notice the deep blush that takes over her face as she starts to read.

Twice, Mr. Cullen rubs his neck again. I stare at the fingers and notice that he has hurt the knuckles of his right hand. I feel an overwhelming urge to sit forward, grab his hand, and kiss them. Instead, I stare. Twenty-two minutes into the second hour, I realize I still haven't seen his face. His profile. I'm not sure I want to - yet. Does he look anything like Hat Guy? He is younger than the man I've seen, since he's sitting in my English class right now, but is there any resemblance at all? Does he have facial hair? Are his lashes long? Does he have the scar on the left side of his chin that I love to run my thumb over?

I have to text Jane. I have to text her now. If Ms. Denali catches me, she'll confiscate my phone. It's worth the risk. I will get it back at the end of the day anyway.

_He's here. He has moles – Bell_

Two minutes pass and my phone is blinking.

_Who? Dr. C? Why? Banner is looking at me. See you in chem! _

Now is not the time to focus on your artwork, Jane! I need you to focus on me. I'm having a crisis. Me.

I text her back.

_No. Another Mr. Cullen. With fingers and mole._

Forty-three seconds.

_O._

Ms. Denali calls on the girl sitting next to Mr. Cullen, so I put my phone away, since she is looking in our direction. I try to focus, I really do, but two minutes pass and I can't stop myself from doing what I do next. Making sure that Miss Cullen isn't watching me, I move to the left a little and pretend I can't see something on the board, stretching my body until I am about to fall off my chair.

I would recognize that profile anywhere.

And then I lose my balance.

And then I'm on the floor.

Thankfully, I recover from things fairly quickly. I jump back up and into my seat, although I notice a bunch of people snickering. I'm looking at you, Crowley and Cheney. Losers. I untie my hair and keep it loose around my face, wanting to expose less of me at this moment. Did Mr. Cullen turn around? Did he see me? Did he hear the laughter? Did he join the rest of those morons?

I tell Ms. Denali that I'm ok, and sit back, shifting in my seat a few times. After a while, I just put my head down on the desk.

It was his profile. Hat Guy. Mr. Cullen. What is his name? Why is he here? Why can't he turn around?

"You ok?"

Her voice is so soft that I barely hear her ask me the question.

"Yeah," I respond, "I'm fine."

"Do you have trouble seeing the board from back here as well? I'm going to ask my cousin to switch with me. It can't hurt. One row closer, you know?"

I nod, unable to utter a word.

"I'm Rosalie," she whispers.

"Bella," I manage.

She smiles and I smile back. I want to ask her a thousand questions.

Before I can focus on class, or Hat Guy/Mr. Cullen again, a piece of paper is shoved in front of my face.

_Do you think she'll be cool with me switching seats with Edward?_

My handwriting gives away just how nervous I am in the single word I write back.

_Edward?_

She nods towards Mr. Cullen. Hat Guy. Edward.

I consider her question before responding.

_Probably not. She's pretty cool about this stuff. Why not ask someone closer to the front of the class?_

She laughs to herself before sending the paper back over.

_I don't know anyone. And this was Edward's seat before I pushed him off. He likes sitting in the back._

I can hear my pulse racing, my heart beating in my ears.

_Me too._

Edward and I (I repeat this several times in my head) have something in common. We like sitting in the back row. It's where we prefer to sit. I bury my face in my hands and start laughing when I realize the absurdity of the situation. I'm sitting a row behind the boy who presumably becomes the man I kiss and love and hold in my dreams. I still haven't seen his entire face. We haven't exchanged a word. He saw me fall. Or didn't. I'm not sure which one is worse. You'd assume he'd know or feel something, right?

_No, Bella, probably not. _

Probably not.

Then it hits me.

If Rosalie is switching seats with Edward, that means I will be sitting next to Edward. Edward will be sitting next to me. In the back row. Where we like to sit.

I take a deep breath and try to remain calm. I take a strand of hair between my fingers and start searching for split ends, yanking it furiously and hating the fact that my mom sends me to get regular haircuts and buys me expensive shampoo. Where are the split ends? I find another strand and start working through that one. When a hand comes up and pulls my fingers away from my hair, I almost get off my seat, ready for a fight.

"Don't do that," she whispers, "It will ruin your hair. What's wrong with you?"

I give the cousin of the boy who still hasn't turned around to look at me the most evil of glares. Her eyes grow wider and she turns away, looking embarrassed. I immediately feel bad but she has to be put in her place. You don't put your hands on Bella Swan.

Speaking of the boy who is sitting there, not moving, speaking or even breathing from what I can tell - how did I not notice him? I mean I walked right past him. Did the words "Miss Cullen" make me so stupid and blind to everything around me that I just walked by him and didn't notice anything? How could I not recognize Hat Guy? Is it possible that he would be lost, just another face among all the faces at Clallam?

I need an answer.

After looking at the different things Rosalie has (or doesn't have) in her clear pencil case, I tap her on the shoulder.

"Do you have a pencil? Pencil, not pen," I ask.

"No." She shakes her head, frantically going through the case.

Now or never.

I lean forward, press a finger against his back and go, "psst."

Edward, Hat Guy, Mr. Cullen, whoever he is, turns around so fast that I jump back.

Oh.

My.

God.

The eyes. The nose. The eyebrows. No, Dr. Cullen didn't have the eyebrows but Mr. Cullen does. The lips. Can I touch them now? Scruff. He's a boy but not really a boy because he shaves and he probably shaves a lot but he definitely did not shave this morning.

"What?" He snaps.

I'm about to apologize when I realize that he's the one snapping at me for no good reason.

_What_?

"You don't have to be rude, I was just going to ask if you had a pencil I could borrow. Never mind, turn around, carry on."

He opens his mouth to say something. He looks confused.

"I thought you were Ros - "

And the bell rings.

I get up, take my things, and before I can hear another word coming from his mouth I start walking towards the door. Something, no, _someone_, tugs on my skirt. The nerve.

"Here, take it."

His voice is flat, I don't think I like it. It makes me uncomfortable. He doesn't look at me as he speaks.

"It's ok," I blush, "I have to get to my next class. I don't know when I'll run into you again."

"It's a pencil. Whatever. Keep it."

Huh.

So I take the pencil and stare at it.

"Thank you."

He shrugs and stands up.

He is tall.

And really skinny.

He needs to eat.

I realize that I have to turn and walk away, because I can't stand here staring at him forever, but that's when I notice the Adam's apple. My knees go weak, and I'm so thankful that Jane rushes in and grabs my arm instead of waiting for me outside the door like she always does. Her touch calms me down and we walk out quietly, making our way to chem in silence. There are two seats available in the back that we take, and we sit back, just looking at each other, saying nothing.

"Swan, Whitlock, what's up?"

_Not right now, Newton. Later, maybe. Not. Right. Now_.

But Mike Newton is a sweet boy, and he's always been friendly and kind to us. Jane and I used to work at his parents' store and the entire Newton clan is warm and nice and my mom loves them and they love my mom. They don't love Jane's parents – no one does.

"Hey, Mike," I say.

"Hello, Mike," Jane whispers. Mike gives her a big, encouraging smile. He knows how Jane can get and always tries to draw her out of her shell.

"Good summer, Whitlock? You look great. You too, Bella."

Jane nods and thanks him, smiling shyly. I wink at Mike and he beams. The boy truly lives for moments like this – where he gets to make someone happy, or say something nice. My wink is a way of thanking him for being kind to Jane. If I had just one wish, it would be for my best friend to act like herself and be comfortable in her own skin with everyone. Around my family and Jasper she is a completely different person. That person is beautiful and funny and talks about anything and everything under the sun. The Jane we see at school never speaks, she looks sad, and her eyes are always jumping from one thing to another, making her seem cold and judgmental to everyone else. But Mike knows this isn't who Jane is, and he tries hard to bring the real Jane out from time to time.

I think he likes her.

Every time I mention this, Jane becomes furious.

Maybe she likes him too?

Mike returns to his seat and I tear a piece of paper from my notebook. Jane shakes her head.

"No, we are talking about this. No notes. What happened? Were you talking to him?"

I nod. "I asked him for a pencil. He's… rude? Maybe he was just cranky – he seemed tired the entire time, slumped over his desk. I don't know. I mean we barely spoke. That definitely was not a conversation. I – "

"Bella, relax. I saw your 'conversation'. I was waiting for you outside and he grabbed your skirt. You looked annoyed, and then you kept staring so I had to come in. Why did he grab your skirt?" There are a thousand questions begging to be asked. I can see them in her eyes.

"To get my attention? He was rude about the pencil thing and – "

"What are you going to do?"

"What do you mean?" I whisper. The teacher just walked in and I don't want to get into trouble the first day of school.

"About…him."

I dramatically shrug my shoulders.

"It is… him, Bella. You know that, right?" Jane asks.

"Yeah, it's him."

A small, warm hand reaches out and touches my arm. "Bella, it's going to be ok. We'll figure it out. You'll come over tonight since mom and dad left for Seattle this morning, and we'll talk. We'll even ask Jasper. OkY? And Bella, he's very pretty. And tall."

"Yeah…" I place my hand over hers and squeeze.

Chemistry flies by, so does history. Jane is with me in both classes. It's not a big school, and sometimes you end up sharing the exact same schedule with half the class. I don't see Edward Cullen in chemistry or history, however. Jane texts Jasper asking if the new kids are in his classes and Jasper says yes, that he's sitting next to the new guy, and they will be on the soccer team together. Jane and I giggle over this new piece of information, since everyone knows that at Clallam, you're on the soccer team only because you can't play any other sport. The soccer team meets after school today, and Jasper tells Jane that we should pick him up right after, to take him home. I wonder if I'll see Edward Cullen when we pick him up. I wonder if he'll recognize me. I wonder what he thought of me when he saw me. Did he think I'm plain? I'm certainly not plain. Did he think I'm pretty? Beautiful? Sexy? Annoying? Bitchy? Did he think anything? Did I make any impression at all?

We walk into the cafeteria together, making our way to the corner table where Jane and I like to sit. Jasper joins us sometimes when he is sick of his friends. Mike and his friends stop by all the time. They're all nice, but everyone knows that Jane and I prefer to hang out on our own. I notice Jane's frown before I notice Rosalie Cullen sitting at our table. I know an entire summer has passed since we last sat at that table together, but it's our table.

"I'll ask her to move, don't worry," I assure Jane. She shakes her head.

"It's ok. We can still sit there."

"No, we can't. That's his cousin."

"Bella," Jane says, rolling her eyes. "If that's his cousin, we _have_ to sit there. I'm not good with people, I don't know how to get them to talk, but I think we need to get to know her. You can talk. And…"

"And what?"

"And maybe he'll join her. They are new here, where else is he going to sit?"

Ah. Excellent point.

We walk up to the table and sit across from each another. Rosalie looks up and recognizes me. She smiles and turns her attention back to her food. Oh no, why is she eating that junk? No wonder…

"Hey, Rosalie. This is my friend Jane Whitlock. Jane, Rosalie Cullen. She's in English with me."

"Hello," Jane says. Her voice is a little higher than usual, a little shaky.

"Hey, nice to meet you."

I open my mouth to say something, ask her about where she came from or if she likes Forks, but two huge arms are around me, and I'm trying to escape the big bear hug Emmett McCarty has enveloped me in.

"Em! Let go!"

"No worries, Swan. I'm grabbing Whitlock next."

Jane starts shaking her head so fast that Emmett starts laughing. "I'm just playin' with you, kid. Don't worry."

Emmett affectionately pats Jane on the shoulder. He looks over at Rosalie for a second, and immediately turns his attention back to Jane. Story of my life. Everyone wants a piece of Jane. No one gets it. No one.

Just as he's about to leave, Emmett turns to Rosalie and speaks. Oh God, how I wish he had kept his mouth shut.

"Why'd you get that tight shirt they sell here? It's cheap shit. Wear your own, it'll look better."

The poor girl's face is bright red. I want to jump over the table and hug her and tell her she's beautiful, because she truly is, but before I get a chance, we are all interrupted by a new arrival.

"Rose, get up. I got us a table," he mumbles. I look straight at him and he looks away. My heart is trying to leap out of my chest. I want so much. I don't know what to do. Speak? Stay silent? Stare? Beg them not to go? Pray he'll come back?

Rosalie picks up her food as Edward grabs her books for her, pointing to the table he found. He lets her walk ahead of him.

"Don't talk to her like that again. Mind your own business. Fucking hick town."

The three of us are momentarily taken aback. But before I can say anything, and before Emmett can apologize – because you can tell he wants to apologize, at least to Rosalie – Edward Cullen is gone.

And if the pencil incident wasn't enough to convince me, I am now fairly certain that this boy is a jerk. Jane knows that I have come to this realization, because she sighs and kicks my foot under the table, mouthing 'it's ok' while Emmett goes on and on about how he didn't mean to offend anyone. But it's not ok, and there is so much thinking I must do, so I jump up and walk out of the cafeteria, hoping Jane follows me. She does.

Twenty minutes later we know the bell is about to ring, so we stand up. We have been sitting under a big tree in the courtyard, just talking. Jane's fingers have been in my hair, playing and soothing, and I really don't want to get up and go to class.

Once I am there I know why I felt so reluctant to get up. I knew music theory would suck because I have no ear for music. What I didn't know is that he would be here, sitting at the piano. And I certainly didn't expect to see that he reserves his smiles for blue-eyed goddesses like Kate.

**GASP. Kate. Let me know what you think?**

**Oh! Run as fast as you can and read With Teeth by talulablue (Twilighted only) and Eye Contact by Silver Sniper of the Night. Also, I've been obsessing over Just Wait by InstantKarmaGirl and Girl with a Red Umbrella by JuskAskAlice and Spanglemaker9.**

**These are all amazing – please check them out!**


	4. I guess I have to wait

**Thank you Writeontime. I think we need to discuss commas. Yes?**

***I do not own Twilight. I used to have my bellybutton pierced, and I have slutty tendencies. That's all***

Kate. Ms. Denali's annoying daughter. Kate is perfect. Kate is so smart. Kate is so kind and helpful and sweet.

Well, I'm sorry Mr. Cullen, but Kate is also in a very serious relationship with a boy in our class, so quit wasting your time and turn around. I am here. I don't have blue eyes, and my legs aren't as long as Kate's, but I'm pretty cute. In fact, I've been told that I'm very attractive. My hair is awesome, my eyes are big and round, and my lips are sexy. Yes, at least two boys have told me that my lips are sexy. I'm in great shape – some would even say I'm almost too thin – and if you're nice I'll let you play with my bellybutton ring.

But he doesn't look at me. Can I just stomp around until I get his attention? Would that be weird? Shouldn't he just be looking at me? Because he likes to look at me. His eyes get big and he holds his breath and there is so much sweetness and love in them that it causes me to go into shock for a few seconds, and then he touches me and his lips move and he speaks to me, kisses me, and I swear he never looks away.

So all he has to do now is acknowledge my presence and look at me once so that he gets it. Is it going to be so hard for him to get it?

"Alright, kids. Everyone take a seat. Today's class is going to be me talking, you writing."

Mr. Mason is pretty scary. I immediately find a seat and take out my notebook. There are only twelve of us in this class, since there is no room for more in this small space. I don't know why I always get stuck in music, but I guess I am better with notes than I am with a paintbrush. I wonder if Edward plays the piano and if he was playing it before I walked in. He is sitting behind me, next to Kate, and I keep turning around to see what he's up to.

The hour passes and he's out the door before I can take another look at him. This is probably for the best, since he's eventually going to notice that I can't take my eyes off of him and he will think I'm a freak. I manage to survive gym and before I know it I'm in the car with Jane, driving back to her house to hang out and do some homework. I don't even bother to hide my disappointment when Jasper calls to tell us that we don't have to pick him up. He needs to run, and why not just run home from school? Jane and I manage to finish all our assignments in under an hour, since it was the first day and no one really gave us homework. We are silent until she finally puts down her pen and clears her throat.

"Bella, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I lie.

"Are you?" She laughs as she gets up to bring us some carrots to eat. She also finds some dip, which is a rarity in the Whitlock home. Dip makes you fat, apparently. It's probably Jasper's. He's allowed to eat whatever he wants.

We eat some carrots and drink a lot of water. Jane knows I don't want to talk about this now. I really don't. I have nothing to say and I have to think, but there are other things I have to do now. Jane turns on the television and finds the pilates program her mother saves on their TiVo.

Thirty minutes later my legs are sore, my ankle is throbbing, and Jane is hugging herself and rolling around on the floor, but it's worth it. While we were stretching and hurting ourselves, Jasper ran in and took the car keys, saying something about grabbing a bite to eat and returning in a little bit to talk about stuff. I'm not sure I want to discuss this with anyone tonight. Jane and I get up and walk to the bathroom, where we stare at ourselves in the mirror for a few minutes, talking about school and possibly taking a job at the Newtons' again. I could definitely use some extra money, and so could Jane. Her allowance sucks, and I have to ask my mom for everything. She has never said no, but I hate asking.

Jane decides to heat up some weird casserole her mom made, so we walk back to the kitchen. I sit back down in front of my book and put my feet up on the chair next to mine. It was probably a bad idea to try any form of exercise with a fucked-up ankle. I had kicked my shoes off when I first walked in the door, so I just stare at my toes while Jane tells me all about her parents' latest fight. I don't know what possessed me to get black polish on my toes. I think I hate it. It's shiny and different, but it makes my skin look even paler than it usually is, in contrast. When the casserole is ready, we pick at it for a few minutes before going back to the carrots. I think it's time for me to go back home since I'm about to die of hunger. I wonder what my mom made, considering she knew I wasn't joining them for dinner tonight.

"So Bella, did you hear about Kate and James?"

I forget to take my next breath. I don't want to talk about her right now.

"No, what about them?"

"Mike was telling Jessica that they're on a break. Jess was laughing. I'm not sure why."

I try to stay calm.

"Look at you, Miss Jane. You're quite the little gossip, aren't you?"

Jane rolls her eyes and sticks out her tongue. "It's just, you told me she was talking to…"

"So what? They were talking. Kate talks to everyone." I can't help the tone of my voice and the fact that I actually snapped at her.

"Bella, relax. I didn't mean – "

She never finishes her sentence because the door opens and the wonderful aroma of greasy Chinese food fills the room. Except it's not Jasper's hands holding the two large bags of heaven.

"Sorry, Jasper said I could let myself in. He's parking the car. I'll just leave these here."

Jane and I just stare. At him, at each other.

He places the bag on the kitchen table – the same kitchen table I'm sitting at – and takes his phone out of his pocket, ignoring us completely.

How rude is this kid? You waltz into someone's home – it's pretty obvious that at least one of us lives here – and don't even bother to introduce yourself, comment on how nice it is, tell us to help ourselves to the food. Nothing. Dr. Cullen hasn't taught him any manners. Speaking of the pretty doctor, we still don't know if he's Edward's father. He can't be. He is too young. I wonder if I can bring this up.

Jane pretends she is doing her homework and I try to do the same. I can't stop looking up from my book to see what he is doing. He appears bored, staring out the window and waiting for Jasper to park his car and come inside. When Jane gets up and tells me she will be right back, he looks over to us and speaks.

"I didn't have a chance to properly introduce myself earlier. I'm Edward Cullen."

And I'm pretty sure I just died.

He _is_ Edward Cullen. Yes, yes he is. He is the most beautiful boy I have ever seen. Boy, not man. He's not the man I know. He's a boy. But he's pretty. Beautiful. He looks absolutely delicious. That white t-shirt was made for him. Those shorts. Oh my, his calves. And the arms. How hairy is he? Pretty fucking hairy, but I think I like it. It looks better on him when he's older, when his arms are a little bigger, when he's less scrawny. Oh, he should eat. I should get a plate, a fork, lots of milk. He needs calcium. I wonder if Mrs. Whitlock buys any real milk. Wait. Should I say something? Introduce myself?

"I'm Jane, Jasper's sister. And this is Bella. Bella Swan. She's our best friend."

I want to run over and hug Jane. She never speaks; she barely smiles, and waits for other people to take care of introductions. Her voice was so low, so shy, but she spoke and because of her I look like less of a fool. Maybe. I'm not sure.

"Nice to meet you Jane, Bella."

I can't help the smile that takes over my face. I can totally see it, big, the top row of my teeth showing, my eyes shining. Because they shine and look very pretty when I smile like this. I hope he notices.

Huh. Instead of smiling back, he looks away and runs his fingers through his hair.

Jane carries plates over to the table, and I grab some glasses. Jasper walks in and starts talking about soccer and General Tso's and asks us if we know Edward. Jane responds quietly and starts opening the containers.

"Edward's from New York. He lived in New York City. Pretty awesome, huh?"

"Actually," Edward says, "I'm from Chicago. We moved to New York a few years ago when my father decided to take a position at one of the hospitals in the city."

His _father. _That's settled then.

"City, like _The City_. That show is fun." Oh my God Bella Swan, you just admitted to watching garbage.

"Yeah… sure," he says, staring at his fried rice. My face falls and I stare at the steamed veggies on my plate.

I take a deep breath and get ready to say something that will reflect my true level of intelligence, but Jasper never shuts the fuck up.

"So Kate Denali, huh? Hottest girl in school. Not bad for the new kid."

Jane drops her fork.

"Uh, she's cool." Edward shrugs.

"Cool. And she puts out. Or so I've heard."

Jasper dies tonight.

"Yes," a quiet voice speaks up, "she's cool, if you're into the – the –_ sluttytype_."

Silence. I try not to giggle - it would hurt Jane's feelings. Kate is many, many things, but she's not exactly slutty. In fact, I'm pretty sure James is or was her first boyfriend. First anything. James and I used to be close in middle school.

"Wow, sis… Not nice. Edward, don't listen to the two virgins at this table. They spend Friday nights braiding each others' hair. Literally. Braiding. Hair."

A smile starts to form on Edward's lips. I want more, I need it to get bigger. I want it to be directed at me.

"You're one to talk, Jasper. When was the last time you dated anybody? Maria in sophomore year? Don't make me laugh. Bella actually has a life. She… she… there was Seth, and Peter, and – "

"Jane!" I plead.

Jasper is laughing so hard that he's about to fall off his chair. Edward looks like he's all alone, eating his food, no crazies at his table. The almost-smile is gone. I keep my eyes on him until he lifts his head and looks up. We finally make actual eye contact. My hands move, my mouth moves, but my eyes just stay on his. The world turns, wars are fought, babies are born, but all I see is green. And his eyes don't move. No, they stay too.

"You coming to the party Friday night, Cullen?"

"Yeah, I guess," he replies. His eyes are gone.

"What party?" Jane asks.

"Kate's throwing one. Her parents are gone for the weekend," Jasper explains.

"Oh, real smart. Party at Ms. Denali's place," I mutter.

"Come on, Swan. You know you're going, too. You'll call me last minute and ask me to pick you up. No can do this time. I'm taking Alice Brandon."

It's my turn to laugh.

"HAH," I scream, "You're taking Forks' resident lesbian to a party? Good luck with that!"

"What the fuck are you talking about, Bella? How do you even know Alice?"

Oh, I know Alice, even though she doesn't go to our school. Her parents send her to public school. Yeah…

"Well," I start, "You know Leah, right? Seth's sister? She likes girls. And she hooked up with Alice at a party in Port Angeles. I was there. I saw it all go down. It was hot." I stand up from my chair and lean over, pretending to stare at his crotch. Jane and I would do this to torture him when we were younger. "What's that, Whitlock? Did that turn you on? What's the witty-bitty thingie in your pants? Aww… I remember! We were well acquainted. So adorable and – "

"Shut up, Swan. Perv. Sit your ass down. Alice is not a lesbian. Maybe she's bi, and Cullen here will tell you that guys like that."

Cullen stops laughing long enough to shrug.

"What were you doing there anyway, Bella?" Jane asks.

"I went with Peter right after you guys took off for the summer," I explain.

"Sure." Jasper pops a piece of broccoli into his mouth. "You were at a lesbian party," he says, pointing at us. "Now I know what you two do together all the time."

I throw a fortune cookie at Jasper because he made Jane blush. Hard. I hate it when he's so inconsiderate. She's shy when people bring up sexual stuff. Especially in front of strangers. He realizes he made a mistake and apologizes to his sister. Jane ignores him and takes her plate to the sink. She starts washing the dishes from earlier and ignores the rest of the conversation between Jasper and Edward. Edward barely speaks. He says something about the Yankees winning the World Series this year and Jasper tells him that's not happening. I choke on my water because I immediately think of the hat and realize he will always be a Yankees fan. He looks up at me and asks if I'm okay, but looks away before I tell him I'm fine.

"Bell," Jasper shouts, making everyone jump for a second. "Show me your piercing. Yo, so they got their bellybuttons pierced over the summer. I haven't seen Swan's yet," he explains to Edward.

I actually blush, because this guy is a complete stranger, sitting here, and I'm supposed to expose myself like that? Yeah, I wear bikinis and he wouldn't be the first person seeing the piercing, but it's weird to just lift up my shirt in front of... a stranger.

"Now who's being a perv? Look, you're making Edward uncomfortable. See how he's avoiding the whole conversation?"

"Stop playing hard to get, Bella. Your ass is hanging out of your skirt and all of a sudden you're modest?"

"I'm not playing hard to get with anyone, unless you're trying to get me, in which case you should know that I'm definitely not interested. Stare at Jane's, I like hers better," I say.

"I'm not looking at Jane's. I've seen it, and she's my sister. Let's put this to a vote. Everyone at this table - Jane, this means you stay out of this - gets to vote. I vote you take off your shirt. Edward?"

He doesn't look up, he doesn't smile. "Pass."

Uh, what?

"Ooooh, BURN, Swan. He doesn't want you to take your shirt off. He just said pass!"

"Whatever, his loss." I shrug. I try not to cry. Because oh my God, he just said 'pass' to me taking my shirt off.

Is he gay?

I get up and carry my plate to the sink. Jane is sitting on the counter, watching Edward intently. She leans over and whispers, "He didn't mean it like that. He didn't want to vote, he looked embarrassed. Only my disgusting brother would do something like that. Don't be sad, Bella."

I nod but I just want to go home. I ask Jane to take me.

"Wait, Bella, don't leave. I've gotta drop Edward off, too. I'll take both of you guys later," Jasper says, when he sees me gathering my things and walking towards the door.

"Actually, I should go too. It's getting late..."

Jasper throws his hands up in the air. "We were having a good time. Come on Bella, one last time. Cullen, close your eyes if you're too scared to look."

Edward looks pissed. "I'll look."

My inner slut - for lack of a better description - comes out and I walk over to Edward Cullen, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Fine, I'll do it."

I turn my back at Jasper, completely ignoring the bastard, and lift up my t-shirt. Edward's eyes are on me, and he doesn't look away. I count to three in my head, and flick the tiny stone hanging from my piercing once. "You can tell Jasper what you think, since he's never going to see it," I say loud enough for Jasper to hear.

"It's...it's nice." Oh, sweet boy. Stop blushing. It's just a stomach.

"Thank you." I smile.

And I turn around, wink at Jasper, grab my bag, and walk out the door with a giggling Jane behind me. We talk about Edward's reaction all night.

XxXxX

Edward Cullen avoids me all week.

All. Week.

First of all, he must have refused to switch seats with Rosalie, because she is still sitting next to me and complaining about her eyesight. Secondly, he turns his head when I walk by and hasn't said a word to me since my little show on Monday. This is actually pretty rude of him, since I said a very cheerful "good morning" when I saw him in class on Tuesday. He moved his shoulders in acknowledgment, but didn't even bother to look up from his book.

I don't like it. It makes me think. My brain hurts because that is all I do. Think.

When I think, my brain stops functioning as it normally does, and I can't dream. I see nothing. No Edward, Hat Guy, nothing. It's actually driving me crazy. I close my eyes every chance I get, hoping to see something, but all I get is weird colors and patterns and shapes that everyone gets when they close their eyes. Or black. Just black.

Jane thinks Edward was turned on when I showed him my piercing. I think she's right. But what does that tell me? How many teenage boys wouldn't react to that? At least we know he's not gay. Not that I ever really had a doubt. I mean, I've seen him in the future and he is definitely into me there. After many hours spent discussing my predicament with Jane, we come to the conclusion that the universe is fucking with me. I wasn't supposed to meet him now, but for some reason, here he is. In Forks. In English class. In music. Walking around with Jasper. Avoiding me. Always avoiding me.

For example, Rosalie came to sit with us at lunch yesterday, and motioned for him to join us. He shook his head and left the cafeteria. Who does that? Doesn't he want to have friends? Even Emmett and Jasper joined us for lunch yesterday, after Emmett apologized to Rosalie for his stupid comment.

Rosalie blushed when Emmett apologized, but two seconds later she sat straight and smiled. I was a little shocked, since she had seemed very Jane-like in her mannerisms and personality. The next words out of her mouth truly shocked me. She pointed to her top - a simple white shirt with rolled-up sleeves - and asked Emmett if it looked better. Emmett's mouth dropped. It was funny to watch, and I think Rosalie isn't as shy or uptight as I thought she was. In fact, she joked about how she is considered to be much more easygoing and "chill" than her cousin. Well, yeah. The only person he seems relaxed around is Kate.

Kate.

This whole thing bothers me. On one hand, Jane and I firmly believe that whatever happens now does not matter, because things will change and I will get to live my dreams of Hat Guy _with_ Hat Guy. On the other hand, I can't stand to watch them together. Not that they do much - they talk at the beginning of class, and then again he leaves. That's the extent of it. I don't even think they hang out at all outside of class. Still, it bothers me. Because I think he's hot, and my mind goes back to Monday night when I placed my hand on his shoulder. It felt nice. Warm. Comfortable. Nothing crazy. No butterflies, no fireworks, no tingles. Just nice. But a good nice, a great nice. The kind of nice that puts a smile on my face and makes me want to put my hand on his shoulder again.

I sigh, looking at my watch. 10:29, Friday morning. Jane is sitting next to me in chem, drawing little people on a piece of paper. When we were kids, Jane would draw dozens of girls. She would make them very tall and graceful, with long, flowing hair. They would all wear different things, and you could tell who was sad, who was happy, and who was angry. I tried drawing the same girls, but I sucked. She doesn't draw those same girls anymore, but has a fascination with drawing tiny figures. They are pretty cool. I watch as she gives one of her girls some curly hair and shoes.

I write Jane a note.

_Wanna go to the party tonight?_

She nods and puts the drawing away.

I write her another note.

_I don't know what to wear._

She rolls her eyes and writes _You'll figure it out. Dress? _right under my words.

I shrug, thinking about my choices. A minute later, I am distracted by the lecture and end up taking notes. Later, when Jane and I are walking to the cafeteria, she nudges my arm and I look up to see Edward walking in our direction.

"Hello, Edward," Jane says.

"Oh, hey. Jane. Bella."

I take a deep breath, but instead of responding, I look away.

"Are you coming tonight?" Jane asks.

"Yeah... Rosalie and I are going to stop by."

I expect Jane to say something else, but it seems like she's done all the talking she can possibly do for the day. She smiles at him and starts walking again, and I almost trip, trying to catch up with her. We toss our books onto our table and I see her red cheeks.

"You... Bella, when I do something like that, you should... take it as an opportunity to talk to him. I don't like... Next time, don't be a moron."

I nod.

She is right. But I'm not sure I want to talk to him. What do I say? Oh hello, Edward Cullen. I have been dreaming of you for months. Maybe even longer than that. In my dreams I kiss you, and you kiss me back. In my dreams we are happy, and no one, nothing exists but us. Please don't make me wait for years to make them come true.

And that's when I realize something huge. Just because Edward Cullen is here now does not mean that I get to live out my dreams a single minute before I'm supposed to. The Edward I see across from me in the cafeteria isn't responsible for what I know about our future, and I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to be influencing anything by telling him what I've fact, it is quite possible that I will have to wait for him. For months, years, maybe until that thing happens that ends up giving him the scar on his chin. And then until the scar fades, just a little, turning into the one I recognize, the one I know.

I look up and watch Edward bite into an apple and talk to Rosalie over at another table. I start thinking about that possibility, and taking the deepest breath I've taken today, I sit back, and I wait.

**Let me know what you think. Or don't, if you don't feel like it. I can't force anyone to do anything, but reviews are fun to read, and they are much appreciated.**


	5. Jane's first kiss

**Thank you Writeontime. You are one of the few good things that happened to me in 2009. You're the best. **

***I do not own Twilight.***

My mother thinks that Jane and I should change before going to the party. She tells us to wear skirts, or dresses, and to put on some makeup. I try to explain that it's not that kind of party, but really, it probably is. Most of the girls will be wearing short denim skirts that just aren't cool anymore, and the rest will be wearing ugly little dresses with leggings, because they don't have legs they can really show off. Not that leggings are flattering – but I suppose they look better than ugly bare leg. I only wear mine on lazy days, or when it gets very cold in the winter, under my skirt.

My mind wanders to the number of girls who will probably be there. I'm curious as to what Rosalie will be wearing. She's very pretty and probably doesn't need too much makeup. Kate will probably be wearing something cute, and I think she will have some makeup on. She always looks a little different outside of school. I consider wearing some mascara, maybe some blush and lip gloss too. I decide against the blush, and use the lip gloss I bought in Seattle the last time I was there with Peter. Finally, I decide to let my hair down.

"Bella, maybe your mom is right. You can't just go in jeans," Jane murmurs, after assessing my outfit and hair.

"Who cares? We're not going to this party to find boys, we're going to hang out. Jeans are fine. And I think my top is nice," I say, pointing to my white blouse and the skinny belt that I have tied under my boobs.

"Yes, it's very nice, but maybe pair it with a skirt?" Jane suggests.

"No. Oh! Can I wear your shorts?" I ask. "You can wear one of my skirts, since you have become so pro-skirt all of a sudden."

"Sure…" Jane shrugs, slipping off her very cool denim shorts. They have tears and holes in them, and they are extremely short. I have been eyeing them all night.

"Dude, I should shave my bikini area. So short! It's ridiculous." I laugh. I'm obviously joking, but the length of these shorts could actually pose a problem. Not that I'm complaining – they really do look good.

"Yeah, you should. You're a hairy beast."

"Shut up, just because I'm not blonde and perfect like you…"

"Yeah, right, Bella. You're perfect." Jane smiles. I smile back at her, a 'thank you' for being sweet and always making me feel better.

Jane ends up picking a ruffle skirt I never wear. It's funny to see her in something so girly, and she twirls around a few times, giggling at her reflection in the mirror.

We slip on our shoes and head downstairs, purposely avoiding my mother by exiting the house from the front door. I shout a goodbye to her just so she knows we are leaving, and we quickly make our way to the truck.

"Bella, you've been really quiet today. Is everything okay?"

I tell Jane I'm fine, hoping to avoid the many questions that will likely follow. No such luck.

"Are you going to try to talk to him tonight?" She asks, her voice quiet and gentle.

"No, not unless I have to, or he says something first, or we're in a conversation with a bunch of people, or – "

"I get it," Jane stops me, "you're not initiating anything."

I nod and turn on the radio.

"It makes sense. You don't really know him, and you don't want to mess up anything that could possibly happen in the future," she says.

"What do you mean? Do you really think I could potentially mess everything up?"

I have considered a lot of things, but it never occurred to me that I could mess anything up. I shake away the panic that starts to rise inside me, and change the subject.

"You know what? It doesn't matter. I decided to wait and see what happens. Anyway, so Jasper is bringing Alice Brandon to the party. Jane, omigod, you should have seen the way Alice was making out with Leah Clearwater. It was insane, and pretty… arousing to watch, if you know what I mean. She kept tugging on Leah's hair and like, licked her neck. Peter had to run to the bathroom to take care of business. Ugh, that loser."

"Gross, Bella. Not something I want to think about."

"What? Girls making out? Sorry, Jane I didn't realize you had a problem with that," I say, a little confused.

"No, that's fine. I meant Peter 'taking care of business' – that's disgusting."

"Tell me about it. I don't want to think about his penis either. It's okay, Jane." I laugh as I pat her on the knee. "_N__o one_ wants to hear about Peter's ummm… habits."

"Habit? How often does he do it?"

"Umm, probably ten times a day? He's a boy, boys do that a lot. Seth wasn't as open about things as Peter, but I know Peter masturbated all day. He even did it in front of me once. It was kinda hot to watch, but by then I was so over him that I was a little squicked out."

"Bellaaa, no more! Please!"

"Jane Whitlock. Everyone does it. All. The. Time. Like Jasper – he is obsessed with porn. That's all he does in his room. He loves watching girl-on-girl, he told me last year at Jessica's party." I remember that party. Jasper tried to feel me up again, but I stopped him. Whatever feelings I used to have for him were gone, and the idea of him touching me like that made me want to throw up. It still does, most of the time.

"Bellaaa, if you're going to continue to talk about my brother like that, I'm getting out of this car. I swear… you're so… Bella! Gross!"

Jane covers her face with her hands and turns away from me. I reach out and tickle her side, and she finally relaxes against her seat, still beet-red from the conversation we've been having. We sit in silence for a few minutes, until I turn the last corner before we reach the Denalis' place.

"Do you do that?" Jane asks.

"Yes."

"A lot?"

I nod, turning my head to look at her. She is sitting perfectly still, staring straight ahead.

"Yeah, don't you? Like…ever?" I ask.

Her fingers play with the ruffles on the skirt. "Yeah, sometimes," she mumbles.

"Fun, right?" I grin.

"Yeah…"

Laughing, I shake my head. Jane will always be Jane, but I wonder if she'll be a total freak one day. Crazy sex, dungeons, threesomes, weird fetishes. I picture Jane all in leather for a second – like that dominatrix woman in one of Jasper's favorite pornos – and laugh out loud. When she asks me why I'm laughing I tell her the truth – that she really doesn't want to know.

I park my truck behind Jasper's car, and we walk over to the house. Jane takes a few deep breaths before we ring the doorbell, and I tell her she looks great. Kate is all smiles and hugs as she lets us in, and we make our way to the back where she says there are drinks and food.

Typical high school party. Nothing special. Pretty boring. Mike and Seth keep bringing us drinks, and Jane gives hers to me. Before long, I'm feeling pretty tipsy, so I ask Jane if we can sit down for a bit. Jasper and Alice are sitting in the family room with a bunch of kids from the public school, so we join them, lying on the floor across from a game of 'truth or dare' that is being played. We watch for a while, but nothing happens. Jasper looks like he is being ignored, so I wink at him and laugh. I mouth "she likes girls" and he winks back, mouthing, "I know."

Oh, Jasper. I know what you're thinking, but that's never going to happen. Poor boy, with his dreams of threesomes and girls making out in front of him. Like that ever happens in real life – especially in high school.

"Hey, you guys should play," Jasper says.

"Yeah, no thank you." I'm pretty sure we don't want to play 'truth or dare' with strangers.

"Come on, Swan. I'll play too. Guys, this is Bella Swan, and this is my sister, Jane. Mind if we join?"

A pretty hot boy wearing a leather jacket and really tight pants tells us it's cool, and it's actually more boring playing the game than it was watching it. Leather jacket – who looks a little older than most of the guys here – keeps looking at me, and I feel that excitement start in my belly and the flush in my cheeks when he reaches over to put a strand of hair behind my ear. I'm a little distracted and don't notice that it is Alice's turn to dare me if I want truth or dare. I blurt out 'dare'.

"Bella Swan, I hear you've been talking to Jasper about me. Maybe you should stay out of other peoples' business." She smiles. What a bitch.

"Hey, so you like vadge. Nothing to be ashamed of, Brandon."

A few people laugh, including Alice.

"Nothing whatsoever. So anyway, I think I want to dare you to… kiss your friend over here."

At this point, Seth and Mike have made their way over to the family room, and I hear Seth's low whistle. Mike just looks like a kid in a candy store. He's beaming.

"Excuse me?"

"Kiss. Jane," Alice says, a triumphant smile on her face.

I wait for Jasper to say something. He knows Jane is shy. He knows that she is probably mortified. I turn to look at her and she is staring at the carpet, biting her lip. Her cheeks are flushed. I catch Jasper also looking at her, but my silent plea doesn't work. He breaks eye contact with me and looks away.

"I'm not sure Jane wants me to kiss her," I tell Alice.

"She doesn't have to kiss you back. Come on Swan, don't be a baby."

"Bella," Jane says, "Just do it."

Well, if Jane says it's okay…

"Fine, whatever."

I get up on my knees and pull her to me. "Relax," I whisper.

Then I kiss her on the lips. One simple kiss.

Then she kisses me back. Another simple kiss.

Huh.

I'm a little tipsy, and this is a dare, so I decide to make this a proper kiss. Before I know it, my mouth opens and in a moment of complete and utter confusion I end up licking her bottom lip and then tasting her tongue. We both pull back at the same time, and start laughing hysterically.

I just gave Jane her first kiss. It's kinda funny.

"Wow, so this is how you do it in Forks," a familiar voice says.

Everyone turns to see Rosalie Cullen and her cousin standing in the doorway. Rosalie waves at us and we motion for her to join us. While she explains that she's going to get a drink first, Edward disappears. The look on his face before he took off was… annoyance? Surprise? Both? Bring back that face, Edward Cullen. You can't just come in and out of my life, or random rooms, like this.

The game continues, but Jane says she needs to use the bathroom and leaves. I ask if she wants me to join her but she shakes her head, so I strike up a conversation with Leather Jacket. He says he's hungry so we end up in the kitchen, where Edward is staring at some tortilla chips and dip. Kate is talking to him, laughing, and I turn my back to them. I made a decision to wait. I'm not supposed to interfere. Part of that includes not walking over to Kate and pouring the dip all over her stupid curly hair, before taking Edward's arms and putting them around my waist. Oh, he looks so nice tonight. So different in jeans and a t-shirt and more gel in his hair. I turn back for a second, wanting another look, and I see his fingers tapping the countertop. Long, graceful. I choke on my drink when I think my next thought.

_Those fingers should be _in_ me._

Bella Swan is horny.

I snap out of it. There is a perfectly pretty boy standing really close to me. I mean, really close. I place my hand on his stomach and try to push him away, but who am I kidding? He is tall, and he is warm, and I don't want to take my hand off his stomach. So I keep it there, and when his mouth is on my neck, I'm back to my happy place. Edward who? Kate what? Who cares? I close my eyes and let him kiss and lick and suck. It's been a while.

That's when it happens. I get a flash of Hat Guy, and Hat Guy throws me onto a couch. My legs open immediately and he lies between them, and I'm transported to another place. My face in this vision is radiant. I've never looked so pretty, so happy, so alive. I hold tightly onto Hat Guy and he places so many kisses on my shoulders that I start to giggle, and I snatch off his hat, and there is so much beautiful hair for me hold on to as he starts doing things with his mouth that I don't want any other guy to do.

I open my eyes and gently push public-school-leather-boy away. I smile, and tell him to give me a second.

"Sure, I'm gonna go get a drink," he tells me. Nodding, I start flipping through a magazine that had been poking into my back the entire time. I turn a little bit to see if Edward is still in the kitchen, and he is, sitting on one of the chairs with Kate on his lap. Immediately, I turn away and find a recipe for palak paneer that looks pretty appetizing. I love spinach. I read it five times before I realize that I am too drunk to retain anything.

I never see the Leather Jacket again, because Jane appears out of nowhere, snatching the keys from my pocket and dragging me outside. I try to protest, but she tells me to shut up. I don't get what her problem is – that boy was very cute, and he definitely knew what he was doing when he was assaulting my neck. His body felt so warm against mine. It's not like I was going to take the dude up to Ms. Denali's bedroom. If Jane thinks I'm going to wait around for _him_, if she thinks I'm going to sit around and knit scarves and shit until _he_ decides to look at me and acknowledge me, she's crazy. I try to free my arm from her grasp, but she is too strong for me. All the weight training her mother makes her do has given her muscles.

"Let me go! I want to stay and have a good time. What's wrong with you?!" I scream.

"Bella, we're going home. You're drunk, and that guy was like twenty-two. Gross. We're leaving," Jane says, calmly.

"He's a senior at Forks High, freak!"

"Fine, go back inside. Have fun. And when you're not too busy getting fingered by a random asshole, look around. The boy you've been 'waiting for' has his tongue down someone's throat."

I met Jane Whitlock in the playground around the corner from my house when we were four years old. Over thirteen years have passed since the girl with the golden pigtails offered me the most disgusting thing I had ever tasted – celery and peanut butter. In thirteen years, Jane has never hurt my feelings, and she has never made me hate her.

She lets go of my arm and I walk back towards the kitchen. Mike tries to talk to me, even Peter waves and smiles, but I ignore them, looking for the boy. Ugh, the boy! He doesn't even have a name.

"Bella, looking for Riley? He just went upstairs."

I turn to see Kate, her hand on Edward's arm, smiling at me and pointing to the stairs at the opposite end of the hallway. Her lips are all puffy, and Edward's hair is all sorts of crazy. Like those gross little fingers of hers have been all up in there, tugging and shit. Oh God, she has a Megan Fox thumb. I shudder.

"Who's Riley?" I ask.

"Umm, you were just… hanging out with him. Tall? Sorta blond?"

Seth walks up, laughing. "Hanging out with him? She was dry-humping him against your mom's cookbooks. Nice, Bell."

I glare at Seth before turning back to Kate. And Edward. She is giggling, her hand now covering her mouth, while Edward is staring at the floor. I try to figure out what's going on with him. He looks funny.

"Right, Riley. Yeah, no. I'm leaving. I just wanted to thank you for, uhh… the party? Yeah, it was fun. Grey Goose. Nice. K, bye!"

I straighten my shoulders and quickly walk out of the kitchen and towards the front door, praying that Jane stayed, that she didn't take my truck and drive home without me. She wouldn't do that, it's my truck.

When I open the door I see her sitting with Mike Newton, looking sad and lost. I squeeze myself between them on the steps and put my head on her shoulder.

"Let's go home, Bella. I'm sorry," she whispers.

I nod, getting up. Mike stands up as well, and walks us to the truck. Once he's made sure that we are safe inside and that Jane is sober, he slaps the side of the truck twice and moves away, waving goodbye. We wave back, and Jane even cracks a smile.

We sit in silence on the drive back until it hits me.

"He looked so confused. And like, shocked," I say out loud.

"What?" Jane turns to look at me.

"Yes! Like you look now! Confused. Why was he so confused? All night, he kept looking at me like there was something he was trying to figure out."

"Bella," Jane says, "I thought you were going to take a break from this. You're going to drive yourself crazy."

"Yeah, but… I don't know, Jane. First, when he walked in on the game, and then again in the kitchen. I don't know… Maybe he's…"

"Maybe he's what, Bell?"

I realize that I don't know what I'm talking about. I'm just making up things after the fact. Anything to hold onto, to believe in. Suddenly I feel foolish, and very, very tired.

"Nothing. Whatever. He's probably going to end up dating Kate. Not important. Ignore me. Drive."

I hear Jane take a deep breath and feel her hand on my arm. She squeezes once, and lets go. I keep playing that scene over and over in my head. Kate's hand, and mouth, his hair. I close my eyes and try to find that vision I've had so many times of my finger hooking on and tugging some of his hair as I reach up and kiss his nose. No matter what I do, I can't see it. When I start to cry quietly, Jane doesn't say anything, but her hand is back on my arm. She doesn't seem to care that our night ends with my tears soaking the sleeve of her pretty top.

**I'd like to thank GiveUsAKiss413 for reading this and giving me ideas. **

**You guys are so awesome with all the reviews and encouragement. I appreciate every single one. **

**Happy Holidays, everybody.**


	6. All this thinking hurts my head

**Happy 2010, everybody. **

**Thank ****you Writeontime for everything. **

***I do not own Twilight. I actually just reread Eclipse and it pissed me off. I'm glad I didn't come up with it. ***

I like the smell of leather, especially the smell of a leather jacket on a cute boy. I think that's what I find so appealing about Riley. Well, that and his playful grin, pretty hair. I close my eyes and inhale. Boy and leather and the air freshener hanging in his mother's car.

How we made it to the backseat of the car, I'm not really sure – I don't usually move so fast. I was surprised when he called yesterday, explaining that Kate had given him my number. It took me a minute to realize who I was speaking to, but his voice when he told me he liked the taste of my throat reminded me of the few minutes we had spent in the kitchen the previous night. He asked if I wanted to hang out and visit the bookstore we had talked about in Port Angeles. I didn't recall having discussed a bookstore, but I went with it.

The bookstore was pretty cool, actually. I ended up buying a couple of books and he bought some magazines. He's into geeky science stuff. I felt bad for him, because our school has such a great science program, and he's stuck at the public high school. We talked about his obsession with astronomy and motorcycles, and he asked if I'd like to take a ride on his brother's bike sometime. This made me blush. On our way back to Forks, his hand was on my knee and it felt too good to just let it stay there. I put my hand over his, and guided it up. Just an inch or two, but a minute later he moved it up a little higher and now here we are in the backseat.

He takes off his jacket and I instantly miss the smell and feel of the leather. I try to focus on the smell of his skin instead. It's nice. Much nicer than Seth's or Peter's. He is by far the most attractive boy I've been with – and I don't just mean looks. He's smart, cool, and pretty badass. He showed me his tattoos. Normally, I would laugh at anyone with literary tattoos, but his are beautiful. Words from some of my favorite writers sitting across his shoulder. I think I like Riley, and I think he is fun. At least he seems to like me, singing my name in my ear every time I move against him, extremely wet boy briefs touching rough denim. He doesn't ignore me, look away, or pretend I don't exist.

Stupid Edward Cullen.

After I went home last night I decided that I wasn't going to care anymore. He can have Kate, if that's what he wants. Ugly fingers and press-on nails. Kate, whose idea of good music is the Akon CD she played over and over at the party. The now familiar anger and disgust begin to swell up inside me and I try to brush them aside. I will wait for Edward to come to me because I have no choice in the matter, but I won't sit around and do nothing until he decides to acknowledge my existence.

Riley's teeth are sharp, but his tongue running over my skin where he bit me feels good. I pull his face up to meet mine and kiss him, willing myself to forget about any other boys.

Focus, Bella. Focus on the boy under you. He feels nice, doesn't he? See how plump his bottom lip is? How soft it is between your teeth, against your tongue?

His hands are on my hips when he whispers against my neck. "B, I have a condom… It's in my pocket."

He moves to get it, and I shake my head, smiling. Boys always assume. It's cute, really. I tell him we're not doing that, but when his fingers move against me and one slips inside, I don't deny him the pleasure of touching me, and I certainly won't deny myself the pleasure of being touched. Why would I do that? He groans when he feels me and I move around his finger, smiling when I realize he really knows what he's doing.

"You like that? Imagine if I replaced it with my dick, and you could fuck it like you're fucking my finger," he says.

Whoa! Easy there, kid. We're only playing around.

His words make me blush, no one has every talked dirty to me before, and I'm pretty sure that's what he is doing. "All you get to use today is a finger," I manage to say, losing myself when his thumb presses against me.

He opens his mouth to speak but I stop him with my hands. One hand over his lips, the other where I know he wants it. And he throws his head back, closes his eyes, and two minutes later we are both smiling and slightly sweaty and it's a little more awkward than it was twenty minutes ago.

I need a tissue to wipe this stuff off my fingers.

Half an hour later we say our goodbyes in front of the house and my mother attacks me the minute I walk inside.

"Sweetheart, how was your date? Is he a nice boy? He didn't come in! I would have loved to meet him. You always keep the boys away from the house, Bella. I don't understand why. Your father and I would love to get to know them. Maybe you can invite Edward to dinner next week."

_Edward?_

"Umm, mom, who's Edward?"

She looks slightly confused. "Dr. Cullen's son, dear. Jane just called and I asked her who drives a Volvo..."

Of course she was watching me get in and out of his car. Typical.

"Well, I'm pretty sure there's more than one Volvo in Forks," I mumble.

"So if it wasn't Edward, who was it then?"

"Oh, his name is Riley. He goes to FHS. I met him at Kate's party last night."

She continues to ask me questions about Riley, and I try to answer as many as possible before I escape to my room. I change out of the dress I was wearing and call Jane.

"Yo, why'd you tell my mom I was out with Edward?!" are the first words out of my mouth.

"_Bella! Who else drives a Volvo in this town? You weren't with Edward? I was so confused, I've been trying to reach you all day. I thought you'd call me if something big like that happened. Who were you out with, then?"_

"Riley. The guy from last night," I explain.

"_Oh. Right."_

Her voice is flat. She's annoyed.

"What's wrong? Jane, he's not twenty-two – I told you. We had fun, although I doubt I'll go out with him again," I tell her.

"_Oh, why not?"_

I pick up one of the books I bought at the store earlier and read the back.

"Umm, because he wants to have sex, I can tell. I'm not doing that with him. If he's cool with just doing other stuff, I'm game, but I know the type. Whatever, it was a fun way to spend a Saturday."

"_I'm glad you had a good time,"_ she tells me. Not too convincing.

"You're mad at me. What happened?" I can tell she's in a funk, and I don't ask why, because I know it's probably her mother or her evil piano teacher, Mrs. Uley.

"_I'm not! Why would you say that? Anyway, I have to tell – "_

"Uh, dude. I know you. I can tell. Was I really stupid last night? Sorry for crying all over your top. It was gross, I know. Mascara never really comes off. I'll buy you a new one," I promise.

"_Bella, it's nothing… So did you know you were going out with him last night?"_

"No, he called me earlier. Kate gave him my number. Anyway, I guess I'll see you tomorrow? Wait – how was piano practice?"

"_Good… That's why I called you earlier. Edward was there, at the school. He's really, really good. I mean, we know I suck, so I felt like a fool playing in front of him, but he was nice and said we should practice together. He said he'd help me out."_

All of a sudden, I don't feel too well. My stomach hurts. A lot.

"Oh… awesome."

"_Bella, I told him you play too… and that you don't take lessons anymore because you don't need them. He was there as an instructor himself and… and he said that's pretty cool that you play and asked if you hang around the school anymore on weekends, but I said no," _She sounds so excited and she's talking so fast, but not fast enough._ "H-he asked if I know any good sushi restaurants around here, and umm… I promised we'd take him and Rosalie to Okasan on Wednesday since we get out early. And then we can just hang out in Port Angeles. He um, said that's cool and took my number and yours. I told him to save yours because I don't really use my phone… He told me to call you and make sure it's okay for me to give him your number but I said you wouldn't mind – "_

My brain needs some rest. And my stomach... I swear, I'm going to throw up. I jump off my bed and run to the bathroom, waiting for my inevitable freak-out to start the second I hang up. This can't be happening.

"Jane! Shut up for a second. Did he like, ask you out?"

"_No! Bella… no! He actually said 'I was gonna ask your brother for good sushi recommendations but do you or Bella know any decent places?' His cousin loves sushi. He wasn't asking me out."_

"Ok… well, so you gave him my number? He saved it?"

Is it silly that my heart is beating so fast that it's about to jump out of my chest and run, run, run until it finds Edward just because he saved my number to his phone?

"_Yes, I think he did. He looked like he was… and he kept staring at his phone right after. When your mom mentioned a Volvo, I assumed…"_

And now I will stare at my phone forever praying he calls but he won't and I'll hate Jane for turning me into a crazy person just by giving my number to a boy. _The_ boy. Hat Guy. Edward.

"Yeah, no. It was Riley, not Edward. Edward's probably out with Kate, getting deepthroated." I sigh.

"_Is that even a term?"_

"I guess?"

"_Oh, that's my mom. Switch to text?"_

"K," I say, before hanging up.

What is going on? Why did Edward ask Jane about sushi restaurants? Does he want to go with her? It doesn't sound like he was asking her out, but maybe he was just shy. Does he like her? Are blue eyes his thing? Is it because she's thinner than I am? Jane is _too _thin, I have curves. Did Jane say we'd take him to Port Angeles together because she feels sorry for me? Why did she give him my number? Did he think that was weird? Did he actually save it? Will he actually go out with us? How the hell did Jane have such a long conversation with a stranger without freaking out?

This is what I ask her when I text her two minutes later.

_Mrs. U introduced us and we talked. I was trying to help – Jane_

_Ily. You're so brave – Bella_

_See? I'm not completely hopeless. Ily too – Jane_

_I never thought you were :) – Bella_

_He's really nice, Bell – Jane_

_Yeah? – Bella_

_So nice – Jane_

I take a deep breath.

_Do you like him? – Bella_

_Yeah, he's perfect for you – Jane_

_No, I meant… do you *like* him? – Bella_

_No, Bella. I don't *like* him – Jane_

I laugh and decide to tease her.

_Do you *like* anyone? – Bella_

_Yes – Jane_

Huh.

_Tell me! Who?! – Bella_

_Dinner. g2g. Ily – Jane_

Did Jane just ignore my question? Does she actually like someone? The last time she had a crush on anyone it was Emmett, in seventh grade. It lasted a few months until he took her out for ice cream in eight grade and she decided that he was lame. Since then, no one is cute enough, smart enough, funny enough. Jasper thinks she just hates talking about crushes and boys. I think it's probably more than that, but I never push her to talk about anything she feels uncomfortable discussing.

Jane doesn't text me back and I don't hear back from her until Sunday afternoon. I spent the morning with my parents at the Clearwaters', avoiding Seth and chatting with Leah. I really like her, and pestered her with questions about college. I promised to let her know the next time Jane and I drive up to Seattle to spend the day, and giggled when she told me how hot she thinks my best friend is.

Jane is really hot, this is true. Usually I feel a twinge of jealousy when boys point this out. Sometimes I wonder if I do things to get attention because otherwise I'm the plainer of two best friends who are always together. Like dating boys I'm not really into just to have a boyfriend, letting guys like Riley feel me up at parties, or even making my skirt an inch or two shorter than Jane's at school. She's really pretty, but I have nicer legs. And a nicer ass.

So whatever.

I don't think I could ever be jealous of Jane. Envious of her hair or nose or full lips, maybe, or of the fact that she has a brother she can always rely on who loves her unconditionally. I've always wanted what Jane and Jasper have, but I know that he would be there for me if I ever needed anything. He's my brother, too.

But jealous? I've never been _jealous._ I want her to be happy, I want all her dreams to come true, even if she never really shares them with me. She tells me she wants to be an artist and doesn't want to have a "real" job. Well, neither do I, but I don't think I could make a living as an artist. I'm one of those people who will have to have a real job. Jane can do her art thing and spend her parents' money. I don't have that luxury. I'm not jealous, though. I know my life is going to be good. I know I'm going to be happy.

Even so, as I wait for Jane to show up I can't help but think about our conversation last night. What if Edward does actually like Jane? What would I do? Waiting for him to 'find me', so to speak, while watching him with other girls is one thing, but knowing that he wants my best friend? I don't know if I would be able to handle that. Think of the implications of Edward liking Jane: maybe Jane likes him too, and is just pretending she doesn't, for my sake? I wouldn't be able to live with myself knowing that I'm keeping them apart. That would be incredibly selfish of me. But what am I supposed to do when I _know _his future is with me? Sometimes I doubt my ability, my sixth sense, or the accuracy of my dreams, but this can't be a coincidence. I've been dreaming of this boy – not a boy who looks like Edward, or reminds me of Edward, but Edward himself – for months. I know he will be there in my future. My Janeless future.

I freeze. The idiot in the car behind me starts honking his horn because I am no longer moving. Does he not understand what I'm trying to deal with right now?

My Janeless future.

What if whatever happens between the three of us causes Jane to leave, to disappear, to stop being my friend? I can't let that happen. There are plenty of boys out there, but I only have one best friend.

I pull up in front of her house and wait for her to come out. Mrs. Whitlock waves at me from the window, never smiling. I've stopped smiling too – there is no point, a wave back will suffice. I watch Jane walk out of the house, smiling timidly at me, her hair pulled back just like her mother wants it. As soon as we have turned the corner she unties it, and I help her loosen the strands until it is sitting free around her shoulders and blowing in the wind as I pick up some speed.

"Jaaaaney! So pretty. What do you want to do today?" I ask.

"Bellaaaa! I don't care, I just want to eat."

So we eat and gossip and giggle and she swears she's not into Edward. In fact, she tells me the she doesn't find him attractive at all. She thinks he is too hairy and hates the stubble on his face that I want to feel against my cheeks. She prefers dark eyes and doesn't like the coppery tones in his hair.

"He has brown hair," I argue.

"Yeah, but yesterday when we were standing outside the school and the sun was out, I noticed that he has… highlights."

I gasp.

"No, Bella! Natural ones, you know, in the sun," she explains.

"Oh thank God! I wouldn't let either one of us date a boy with highlights!"

"Bella," she says, rolling her eyes. "I'm not interested in Hat Guy. I only deal with him because I want you to be happy, and he's a really nice guy."

"Right, but if you guys like each other… I'm just saying that I want your happiness, and if he…" Ugh, I sound like a moron.

"Just be my friend always, and I'll be happy."

I reach out and pinch her cheek. "Jane, we are such losers sometimes. Now about that person you like…"

"Jealous, Swan?"

I stick my tongue out at her and we continue to tease each other until I drop her off. The anxiety I had been feeling since last night is gone. I don't know why Edward is here, why Jane feels so comfortable around him (because she does, no matter what she says and how much she tries to convince me that she is talking to him for me), or what is going to happen, but I know that nothing can come between us. Sometimes, when boys suck, I wish I liked girls, because I could easily spend the rest of my life with my best friend.

XxXxX

Monday morning.

Again.

When do Monday mornings stop being this disgusting? My dad tells me they never do, even when he doesn't have to go in to work. They always suck, no matter what. I usually try to be more positive and tell myself that _this_ Monday morning will be awesome. Walking over to my first class, I repeat that to myself over and over again.

I frown when I don't see Rosalie's head where it usually is. She gets me through double English with all the note passing we do. I hope she's not absent.

"Bella!"

I turn to see Rosalie sitting in the second row, by the window.

"Oh, hey. You moved," I say. I can hear the disappointment in my voice. Pathetic.

"Yeah, I need to be closer to the front. I wish you could move up here too."

"Me too, but I'd rather stay in the back. Ms. Denali spits when she talks."

Rosalie laughs and I wave as I walk over to my seat. I take out a banana and the Greek yogurt I have every morning, making sure I have a spoon for it in my bag. I have to be quick, because Ms. Denali hates it when we eat in class.

My book is open and I'm pretending to read the assignment because I really want to avoid Jessica, who texted me asking about Riley last night. It's only after I feel the presence of someone sitting very close to me that I look up.

I guess he decided to take his cousin's seat.

Regulate your breathing, Bella. He's just a boy. Breathe in, breathe out. Inhale, exhale. Wait, don't breathe in – he smells too good. He must have just showered. I look towards him again and yes, his hair looks damp. He catches me looking and smiles.

Edward Cullen smiles at me, and it's glorious.

Dimples and white teeth and deep green eyes. Lips and scruff and a tiny bit of tongue behind the teeth. I grip the edge of my desk because if I don't I'm going to float away. That's how light I feel, and I'm pretty sure my heart has leapt out of my chest and started dancing around already.

Edward Cullen is still smiling at me.

I look up at him through my lashes and raise the left side of my mouth into a semi-smile that boys seem to like. He stops smiling and looks straight ahead. Before I can hit him in the face with my banana, Ms. Denali walks in and class begins.

People read things and answer questions. Even I participate, while trying to hide my breakfast under the desk, and then I duck and lick my spoon once, sitting up quickly before I'm caught. Yum, I'm done.

I hear his laugh and turn to him, raising an eyebrow to ask what could possibly be so funny.

Edward Cullen reaches out, and with his thumb – a very long and delicious-looking thumb – removes some yogurt from the corner of my mouth. I watch him stare at the white stuff on his finger, looking unsure as to what he's supposed to do with it. Cute. My heart skips a beat. It must have found its way back into my chest. Having made sure that Ms. Denali has her back to us, I decide to help Edward by pulling his hand to my mouth and finishing the last of my yogurt.

Yum.

**Um, yeah. Thoughts? **

**:)  
**


	7. Yogurt, pizza, and area codes

**I didn't feel like writing an A/N today, so my dear friend AngryBadgerGirl suggested I thank the things that matter – Jesus, my vibrator, and Fifty Shades.**

**I'm sure I'm missing something, but that's enough for today.**

**WriteOnTime is my beta. She teaches me so much, and feeds me cheesecake and Nutella.**

***I do not own Twilight. If I did, Bella would be wearing prettier clothes***

I did a pretty good job cleaning his finger. No more yogurt – it's just a little wet because it was in my mouth. My saliva. On his finger. Which was in my mouth. Hat Guy's finger was in my mouth in English class. I touched it with my tongue. Oh. My. God. I'm not sure if it tasted like anything, but I'd take anything of his and do that over and over again. Ugh, sometimes I gross myself out. But it's true, and if that makes me a whore, so be it. I've always had a bit of an oral fixation. I constantly have something in my mouth. Why can't it be Edward's finger? Maybe tongue. Something else. _Shut up. Shut up. Shut up._ _You sound like such a slut. Guys don't like girls who are too easy._ Oh, so I'm supposed to sit around and pretend I don't want to do dirty, dirty things with pretty boys with long fingers and smiles that make me want to drop down to my knees?

_Ok, Bella Swan. You have never been this bad before, what is this boy doing to you?_

I don't know. But I just licked yogurt off his finger. Who does that? And as I was removing his finger from my mouth it dragged across my teeth. I think maybe – I'm really not sure – but I think that for the tiniest amount of time I bit down on it? But I think I'm totally making that up. There is no way I actually bit him.

_Him._

_He_ said nothing. Did nothing. I mean, what was he supposed to do? Turn to me and say, "Why thank you, Bella. That was very kind of you. I had no idea what I was going to do with the white stuff I just wiped off of the corner of your mouth"? Obviously not. What would I have done? Blushed and looked away. Although considering my behavior these past two weeks,I would have probably just jumped him. What has been up with me lately? I keep surprising myself. First my shenanigans with Riley, now this. Let's not forget flashing Edward some skin he didn't actually ask to see. How is this boy ever going to take me seriously? It's impossible… I'm the skank who wears short skirts, makes out with girls and strangers at parties, and licks stuff off fingers. I'm _that_ girl.

I actually hear myself groan as I cover my face with my hands and put my head down on my desk.

Maybe I should apologize to him. Was I out of line? If he's not interested in me, then he might be totally grossed out right now. But he was the one who started it! He could have pointed to the yogurt on my face, or told me about it. What gave him the right to just touch me? Did he assume he could just touch me? Would he do that to anyone else? Who does he think he is? What does he think _I_ am? No other boy in our class, except for maybe Seth and Peter when I was dating them, would have done that. It was pretty inappropriate.

_Inappropriate?_

I start to laugh at myself and can't stop. Let's add "crazy" to the list of adjectives Edward uses to describe me. Ugh. He probably already knew I was nuts. I should just continue; too late now. I'm done. I should pay attention.

Wiping the tears from my eyes, I try to stop the giggles that keep escaping me. The more I try, the worse it gets. I put my head back down and wait until I'm done. This hasn't happened in a long time. Jane will be glad that she wasn't around for this one. She was mortified the last time it happened, begging me to stop and telling me sad, serious things about orphans and cancer and the upcoming final season of Lost. It didn't work. Her dentist's receptionist and patients kept staring at me, many of them smiling and laughing themselves. I have no idea what I thought was so funny.

I feel a tap on my elbow and I raise my head, just a little startled. His fingers are holding a water bottle, offering it to me. I sit up straight and take the bottle, smiling. I'm avoiding his eyes, his face. I don't want to blush in front of him now, and I'm sure his eyes will make me blush. I manage to say "thank you", and place the bottle on the desk.

"Are you ok?" he whispers.

I nod, feeling my cheeks burn at the sound of his voice. He didn't just speak, he whispered. And although everyone whispers during class if they wish to speak to a friend or neighbor, I can't help but feel an intimacy that I know does not exist between us. And the images that take over my brain make my heart beat wildly. He doesn't notice any of this, and if he does, he ignores it, because he goes back to taking notes.

Two periods of the same class can be so boring. You'd think that having Edward next to me would make it better, but I'm just anxious and restless, and after a while I simply shut out the rest of the world. Who knows what I think about when I let myself go like this? Minutes and hours can pass and if no one disturbs me, I can sit and think and dream, and I miss the days when I didn't have distractions like the Internet, shows I must watch, and boys I must talk about or hang out with. I realize that these are things I enjoy, but sometimes I want to be lying outside with Jane, in silence, dreaming, thinking, creating new worlds, fantasizing about them.

"Ms. Swan, are we daydreaming again? You know how distracting that is for everyone around you. Try to pay a little more attention, please? Thank you."

Normally, this wouldn't embarrass me as much as it does now. I've had Ms. Denali for English twice already, and she knows about my tendency to go off into my own little world. She doesn't do it to be mean – she just wants me to pay attention. But I'm blushing and uncomfortable, itching to get out of the classroom, wishing Rosalie still sat next to me instead of her cousin, because when he was in front of me, it was so much easier. I don't know if I can handle this. I don't know how to act around him.

And because I haven't gone completely crazy yet, a piece of paper is placed in front of me, neatly folded, very small, threatening to take away the tiny bit of sanity I have been holding onto. Maybe I'm just dreaming and I don't know it. It would actually make me feel much better knowing that this entire morning has been a dream. I'd like a do-over, I think. No licking, no hysterical laughter.

My fingers twitch as I reach out to grab it. I straighten my back and try to compose myself. It's just a note. He probably wants a pen. Gum. Maybe he has a question about the material we are covering in class.

_Bored?_

Huh. He wants to know if I'm bored. I almost want to write back and say "yes, what are you gonna do about it?" but instead, I say yes, and ask him if he is bored as well. I leave the note open in front of me for him to take, and turn my attention to what Ms. Denali is saying. It's not easy, because I haven't been paying attention or taking notes, but this way I won't look like I'm waiting around for him to respond. Which, of course, I am.

He slides the piece of paper back to me and it's very difficult to ignore it while I scribble down the last few words Ms. Denali is saying. I calmly reach for it and open it, trying to control my breathing.

_Not really. You're keeping me entertained. :p Jane gave me your number, btw. Hope that's ok._

Instead of sending a note back, I simply nod. Oh. My. God. Is he flirting with me? Yes, yes he is. And the little smiley with the tongue out. Oh. My. God. I sound like such a moron. I can't help it. I can't sit still. My hands go to my hair and I am doing that crazy thing where I frantically search for split ends. Very attractive, I know. But what am I supposed to do? Write a note back? Wait for him to say something? Go on with my day like nothing happened? He smiled at me. He flirted. He wrote me a note. With a smiley with its tongue sticking out. He said I entertained him. Should I be insulted? Annoyed? Who cares? Things happened. And I want more.

I stop playing with my hair and quietly tear a piece of paper from the back of my notebook. I have no idea what to write, but I do it anyway.

_Did you have fun at the party?_

He smiles when he reads it. He taps his pen on the desk a few times before he writes something, and I can't stop staring at his fingers. He's going to get a restraining order against me soon. I'm scaring myself. He must be freaked out.

_It was fine._

It was _fine_? Well, I tried. I have nothing else to say. He didn't even ask me if I had a good time. Whatever. I flick the piece of paper away with my finger and go back to taking notes and doodling in my notebook. But when another note is placed in front of me I grab it quickly, and I try to suppress the big, stupid smile that takes over my face.

_I thought I'd show up and you'd show me another piercing._

I look up at his face and he frowns, shaking his head and trying to look disappointed, but he's a bad actor, and I love his silent laugh. I don't take my eyes off his face as I write my response.

_You'll be disappointed to know that I have no other piercings. Just the one you're acquainted with, and the ones in my ears._

Will he be disappointed? Am I being presumptuous? Is he going to laugh and tell me he couldn't care less what I have pierced? I obsess and obsess and think and it's taking too long for him to respond, and when he finally does I read it twice, turning to look at him because I am a little… shocked?

_I could take a closer look at the ones in your ears. Or the one I am already acquainted with._

You know how in the movies, right before the lovers kiss, they have this look in their eyes, like they are about to devour one another? And sometimes it's really hot, but sometimes it's extremely cheesy and you giggle, and the person in the back row gets really annoyed because they are really into the movie? I think that's probably how I look right now. My mouth is sort of open, my eyes are wide, I'm staring at him. I'm taking very deep breaths. I probably look ridiculous. I should look away.

But he's staring at me too. He blinks once. His cheeks are bright pink. He is blushing.

Then he smiles. It's glorious. One side of his mouth goes higher than the other. It's wonderful. It makes me smile. I feel uncomfortable, shy. Now _I'm_ blushing. I turn. We take notes and when class is over, we go our separate ways.

XxXxX

"So I'm sitting there, thinking – he wants to take a closer look at my ears? And I can't help but imagine his mouth on my neck and Jane, you haven't noticed his lips, have you? Or how his smile is crooked sometimes? Like when he _really _smiles? Am I being annoying? Tell me if I am. I know I am. I'm sorry! Tell me to shut up. Do it. I won't if you don't say it. Stop laughing! Jane!"

But I'm laughing with her, trying to keep it down because her mother is in the kitchen and hasn't left yet. She thinks we're doing homework, but we're just sitting on the living room floor, talking. In a minute, she will bring us some celery or carrots. Maybe if we're lucky, we'll get fruits this time. Fruits are like special snacks here. When we were kids Jane would get excited about eating grapes or an orange. I just wanted to go home and have a cookie. Actually, it's what I want now, but I also really want to see Jasper, so I'll hang around until he is back from practice.

Jasper and I had lunch together, since Jane had a doctor's appointment she had to go to after chemistry. I had hoped to see Edward in the cafeteria, but I think he eats somewhere else. This was one of the things I asked Jasper to find out. When I told him about my dreams, he laughed for a few minutes and told me I was making them up. Not the dreams – just the part about Edward. He knows better than to doubt me, but I totally understand why he would. It sounds crazy. He calls me psychic, but I don't think I am. I just dream; I see things. It's not like I can close my eyes and ask, "When will Alice finally blow Jasper?" and get an answer. Things just come to me, and everything I see concerns me directly, or people who are very close to me. Yes, I've seen some things about my mother, Jane, Jasper, and Aunt Liz, but I'm definitely not psychic.

So I told Jasper everything. From my dreams, to seeing Dr. Cullen at the ER; I even described every interaction I've had with Edward so far. Jasper loves gossip and always knows what's going on. He jokes around and gets all sorts of information from people at practice, in class, or in the locker room. He hates spying, but does it for me. It's how I found out Seth was spreading lies about me. Like I'd actually do those things with him. Please.

I just hope that Jasper doesn't make it obvious that he's trying to gather information. It's not like I want a lot of information. Just simple things. Does he have a girlfriend back home? Because if he does, it's pretty disgusting that he was making out with Kate at her party. Where does he spend the lunch hour? Is he interested in Kate? Have they been hanging out? Texting? If anyone can find out, it's Jasper. After laughing about the yogurt incident for ten minutes, he agreed to tell me whatever he learns during and after practice today. I'm willing to wait and see if any of my questions were answered.

"He didn't mention going to Port Angeles together? I wonder if we're still going," Jane says.

"No, but it's not like we were having a conversation," I explain, immediately frowning at the possibility that we won't be hanging out with him on Wednesday. "Maybe… maybe I can bring it up tomorrow or Wednesday morning? I mean, he took your number, he should call if you don't run into him at school."

_Or maybe you can ask him? _

Yeah, right. She's done enough. I won't make her do anything she doesn't want to do.

"I guess… I can ask Rosalie? If she sits with us at lunch, I can bring it up," Jane suggests.

Nodding, I tell her this is a good idea. It is. But in my little fantasy, it's completely unnecessary, because Edward calls and we talk and make plans. Why else did he mention getting my number from Jane this morning? Was he asking for permission to call? I should have probably said something, made it obvious that I want to hear from him.

"Bella, what's wrong?"

I shake away my annoying thoughts and smile at Jane.

"Nothing, I'm being stupid." I laugh. "Let's do some pilates. Can I use the elliptical when your mom leaves? My thighs are huge."

"Stop whining about your thighs," Jane tells me. "You know you have nice legs."

We both stare at my legs as I lift them high and open and close them over and over again like scissors. They look fine. I like my knees. I stretch a little, checking out my reflection in the glass doors that lead out to the patio. We hear Mrs. Whitlock leave and run to the basement to use the different machines they have down there. After twenty minutes on the elliptical I give up, bored and tired. I don't want my legs to be sore tomorrow. Lying on the floor, I do a few sets of crunches, until Jane and I hear a door being slammed shut upstairs.

"Jasper! We're down here!" Jane yells.

"Come upstairs. There's food!" He calls back. At the mention of food we both sprint to the stairs, skipping every other step on our way up. We smell pizza and squeal. By the time we're in the kitchen Jane and I are breathless, laughing at ourselves for getting this excited over something like pizza, and Jasper is shaking his head.

"Ya know, for two people who are going to share a single slice, you are too excited." He laughs.

I hop onto the counter and take a slice, shoving it into my mouth so fast that it burns my tongue.

"Ow! How is this still so hot? I'm not going to be able to taste anything for days. Jasper, next time, warn me!" I whine.

"You don't have to be a genius to figure out if something is too hot to eat. Jane, the sausage slice is for you," he explains.

Jane's face lights up. She takes a knife and cuts the slice in half before carefully wrapping the second half in aluminum foil. Jasper rolls his eyes at me and I warn him with a raise of my eyebrows. No matter what we say, she's only having half now. The second half will go upstairs with her, to her room, and when everyone is asleep she'll come back down to the kitchen to heat it up, or eat it cold. I look down at the gigantic slice I'm eating and feel guilty. I start removing the pepperoni, and then I take some napkins to soak up the grease.

"Will you stop that? Looking at you two eat makes me lose my appetite. Make sure you don't do that when we're out with the Cullens on Wednesday." Jasper smiles.

"Wait. You talked to him?" I ask, dropping the slice of pizza and turning my full attention to Jasper.

"I said I would. He's not much of a talker but I got the 411."

It's Jane's turn to roll her eyes at Jasper. "Don't talk like that, it makes you sound stupid. What did you find out?"

Jasper's smile is so big and wide that we see all his teeth. Anyone who sees that smile can't help but smile back. Few people you meet in life are as charming as Jasper. All the confidence Jane lacks can be found in Jasper's smile. Like some shakeup happened in the womb, and it was all transferred over to him. No one is immune to it. Not even Jane, who gazes adoringly at her brother.

"Alright. He's single, no girls back in New York or Chicago. He likes sushi, and we're hanging out together. He's bringing his cousin. He drives a Volvo."

"That's it?!" I exclaim. "That's all you found out. He likes sushi. Thanks for the information, Jasper. Very helpful."

Jane is shaking her head. She puts the crust she never eats into the box and speaks. "That's pretty pathetic."

"Hey, I tried. I just told you he's single, what else do you need to know at this stage? Oh, and I asked him for Kate's number, he didn't have it on him. She wrote it down somewhere for him and he's not sure where. Happy?"

I shrug, trying to keep my smile from getting too big. Jasper notices and laughs. "Bella, do your thing when we hang out. He's a guy. From what you've told me, he's been flirting with you, he's not gonna reject you."

"Yeah, he flirted today, but usually he just ignores me. What if he ignores me when we're out?" I ask. The mere idea of what I suggested puts a damper on the good mood Jasper brought about just a minute ago.

"Bella, what ever happened to waiting? You know, not interfering with whatever plan…" Jane says in a whisper.

I take a deep breath and try not to snap at her. "I don't know what the 'plan' is. For all I know, he's here for a reason. What if sitting back and doing nothing results in never seeing him again once we're off to college? I don't have enough information to decide what my best course of action is. Right now, he's cute and single and here. Even if I hadn't had these dreams, I think I would have thought he was cute."

Jasper looks at me with a strange expression on his face. I think he's thinking.

"Bella, do you just think he's cute, or do you actually like him? I mean, are you in love with him?"

His question annoys me more than his sister's. "Of course I'm not in love with him. But I know that I will be. I don't know him at all, but I… I want him. I don't know…"

Jane mumbles something and leaves the kitchen with her half slice of pizza. I'm about to follow her, but Jasper stops me.

"I think you should just see what happens. If he asks you out, if you hook up, go for it. Don't push anything. You don't know him. He could be a great guy ten years from now, but a complete tool today. He seems like a good guy, but there are plenty of good people out there. If you know it's gonna happen one day, then you know. Nothing you do now will change that. Just relax and stay calm."

I nod, my eyes wandering over to the two slices of pizza that remain uneaten in the box.

"Don't even think about it, Swan," he warns.

"Jasper, all these carbs, are you sure they're good for you? We don't want you to lose your six-pack," I tease.

"I didn't know I had one. Your boy Cullen, though…"

A feeling of overwhelming joy bursts inside me. "Really?!"

"I'm just fucking with you, Bella. He's really skinny. He wishes."

I stick out my tongue and he laughs, leaning over to pinch my nose. For the rest of the afternoon, I can't help but wonder what else Jasper has seen. It's all I think about on my way back to my house, during dinner, and as I watch the news with my dad. Boys see boys naked after practice, right? I want to ask very specific questions, but I can't. It would be very helpful if he compared Edward to himself, because I've seen Jasper's, it was pretty and nice. I doubt I'd get an unbiased opinion, though. Boys are very proud of what they have, I think. He would just say Edward's is… smaller? Not as nice? And do I really want to hear it from Jasper, or see for myself?

My mom decides to follow me to my room to ask a bunch of questions about every aspect of my life. I respond, smile, and let her give me advice about things that really don't interest me right now. She tells me to scoot over and lies down on my bed beside me. I'm mostly staring at myself in the mirror and cringing when I notice something I don't like. Mother-daughter time is a nightly ritual, and I like it, but I'm feeling too restless today, so I snap at her a few times. She tells me to go take a shower and dry my hair so it won't look too crazy tomorrow morning. When I come back from the bathroom she is still in my room, putting my clothes away for me.

"Bella, your phone vibrated. I think someone called you," she says, pointing to my nightstand.

"Oh. Thanks mom."

I walk over and pick up my phone. One new text.

You know how when a boy you like has your number you think every call, every text is from him? This is almost always followed by disappointment, because it's your best friend, or your mom, asking you where you are. Or even worse – someone you really can't stand and don't want to hear from. I'm having one of those moments. My mind goes straight to Edward. I would really be lying if I looked back at this someday and said, "It didn't even cross my mind."

Because it totally crossed my mind, and I am so hopeful right now. I'm looking at my phone, telling myself it's Edward. And I guess I can't be sure it's him because I don't recognize the number, but I can't imagine who else it could be. And three minutes later, once I have kicked my mother out of my room, Google and Wikipedia confirm my suspicion:

_Area code 646 is a New York City telephone area code. _

**So many of you reviewed the last chapter. Thank you!**

**And thank you to The Fictionators – Kassiah and Kristen Nicole wrote the most wonderful reviews for BS, and I adore them. Do you guys read their stuff? You should. **

**A lot of you wandered over to this story because you saw it mentioned in the last chapter of _Living Backwards_ – ciaobella27 is my homegirl. I also have the biggest crush on her. I think I scare her.**

**Let me pretend that my opinion matters and tell you guys about a story I'm obsessed with. It's called _Rhapsody in B_, by Lillybellis. It's incredibly sweet, and different from a lot of the stuff out there. Also, she's awesome. **

**Want more of their text conversation? Go check out the EPOV I wrote that's in the BS extras on my profile.**

**Just let me know what you think.**


	8. Everybody hates Bella

**WriteOnTime is my beta, and she just stopped me from making the biggest fandom faux pas ever. All of you would have flounced. Thank her. I'm serious. Or blame her, I don't know.**

***I do not own Twilight. I own a laptop that hates me, and the new issue of VF. Yum.***

The sound of my mother's voice calling my name has never been as unpleasant or unwanted as it is now. I keep my eyes shut, desperate to hold on to the images I have before me. I know that if I let go, they will be gone. And I won't let him go.

I have that terrible haircut again. Long, thick bangs and short hair pulled back into what I guess I can call a ponytail, but it's too short to be considered much of anything. I don't like it. I don't like the glasses I'm wearing or the sharpness of my cheekbones. And I'm not sure I like the lines around his eyes. He looks tired, and he is wearing glasses too. I look miserable, and he brushes the hair off my forehead and presses his lips to my skin. I look like I'm falling apart, giving up, when he brings me closer and rests my body on his. He says something, I smile and he laughs.

"Bella!"

Reluctantly, I open my eyes. And then just to give it one more try, like I do each and every time after I dream, I close them again, but he's gone. I'm gone.

Was that happy? Sad? Everything I saw makes me think I was miserable. He wasn't kissing me, loving me. I wasn't excited. My cheeks weren't a bright pink, no giggles and definitely no want in my eyes. Because usually when I'm with Hat Guy, my eyes look hungry. Like I'm going to eat him. Devour him. And the way he looks at me? It's the same... And it makes me feel like I can fly.

All of that is missing, and yet I can't help but feel extremely calm, content. My heart isn't beating fast like it usually does after a dream. I'm not flushed, and when I check between my legs I'm definitely not wet and sensitive and silky like every other time. But I feel good. And I'm smiling. And when I notice how my phone has made its way into bed with me, everything that was missing from my usual post-dream state suddenly appears. My heart beats so fast that I try to stop it with a hand on my chest, and delicious butterfly dances start in my stomach.

His words. He's... He's sweet. Almost romantic, but this isn't a romance. It's a flirtation to him, and I need to keep reminding myself that that's all it is. He is also a little slow, because it took him forever to understand that I was asking him to sit with me at lunch. But slow is fine, because he likes me and he wants to touch me and he thinks I'm lovely. Or my skin is lovely. Or maybe just the corner of my mouth. And I want to read every word he wrote again until I have them memorized. And then I want to have the courage to text him and say 'good morning', but I know I should wait. And I know that the disappointment I'll feel if he doesn't respond will tear apart my soul.

The drive to school is very quiet. I know the second I open the door that something is wrong. Jasper barely acknowledges me and Jane's eyes are red. Not a good time to share my excitement, so I sit back and pull my phone out of my bag. Ugh, his texts! I told him flattery doesn't work (it totally does) and he said he was willing to try anything.

For what?

For _me?_

Does he want to date me? Does he want a blow job? Does he think I'll have sex with him? Is he saying these things to anyone else? Does he text random girls every night and wait to see who will text back? If they don't, whatever. If they do... Does he try to get into their pants? But most importantly, do I care?

It's almost pathetic just how willing I am to do anything he wants.

I have no rules. If I want it, I'll do it. And if he wants it... Oh, then I'm definitely doing it, because I'll want what he wants, right?

The car comes to a stop in our usual spot, but no one moves. As softly as I possibly can, I tell Jane that Banner doesn't tolerate late arrivals. She opens her door and steps out of the car, and I follow. I know better than to speak to Jasper right now. Jane stops at her locker to pick up her things for Banner's class, and I take this opportunity to ask her the question I definitely know the answer to.

"Did he leave again?"

"Yeah, this morning," she answers.

"I thought things were better…"

"Not really. He's been the same. We thought after last spring and the road trip that things were improving, but he's the same," she tells me.

"Is your mom okay?"

Jane shakes her head and avoids my eyes.

"Jasper looks..." I start, but the deep breath she takes tells me to let it go for now.

"You know how Jasper gets. He tried to stop him... But, you know... And Mom just told Jasper to let him go this time… I don't know what he told Mom but she was crying."

I nod, not knowing what to say. Mrs. Whitlock, crying? The mere idea of it is absurd, laughable. But I don't point this out. I take Jane's hand in mine, squeezing it once before I let it go, and we walk over to our classrooms. I feel like I should tell her he'll come back, but I'm not sure if this would actually be a good thing. Shouldn't his wife and kids be relieved that he's gone? As an outsider, you'd think so, but I know Jane and Jasper. They just want their parents to stay together, regardless of how shitty the situation is. And they don't want to let their father go. Mr. Whitlock is a dick, but he is a friendly, warm, funny, and affectionate dick.

Thank God college is less than a year away...

Ms. Denali is already sitting at her desk and gives me a warm smile when I walk into class. I make my way to the back as quickly as I can and try not to look at where he's sitting until I'm settled into my seat. I search for my notebook and the book we had to read for class and I am clearly not searching hard enough, because the book is in my hand and the notebook is right there, but my brain is somewhere a little to my right, and why can't I just move my seat over a few inches so that our legs touch?

Wait... Why _can't_ I? I mean I can if I want to. I hold my breath and move maybe a quarter of an inch to the right. Okay, maybe more than that. Or maybe haven't actually moved at all, but merely shifted my weight around a little. Whatever that was, it certainly did not help. He's still too far away.

Why is he sitting so far away? And why is he staring straight ahead? He's like a statue. Edward, look at me. You can't just sit like that forever and pretend I'm not here. You better not be acting like a jerk, or aloof, or whatever, like we didn't talk all night. Well, text. Same thing. How annoying. How pretty. Oh God, your arms when you're scratching your head. I have this urge to lick, lick, lick and I wonder if all the hair will look funny, wet and going in the wrong direction, sticking to your skin.

_Sick._

Always.

"Bella, care to answer my question?"

I freeze. What question?

"You know I do not repeat my questions," Ms. Denali says in a sharp voice. "Ms. Swan, I'm making a note of your lack of participation this year. I'm very disappointed."

My cheeks are burning and I look down at my desk. My typical reaction to something like this is anger, but instead I'm just really, really embarrassed. I'm also very hungry, but eating anything will just draw attention to me and right now I want to hide under my desk until the bell rings and everyone is gone.

I don't even know what we're doing. What page are we on? I glance over at Edward's book, but his arm is in the way, and all I see are scattered papers. Bella, Bella, Bella. Since when do you not know what's going on in class? Get it together. Pay attention. Listen. You did all the required reading over the summer, there's no reason why you shouldn't be able to answer her questions. If you can't handle English, how are you going to handle the tougher subjects? Focus. It's not a big deal. You need to focus and answer two questions before she calls on you again. You're the smartest person in this classroom, even if Peter and Rosalie use bigger words. They just sound like douchebags. You can do it.

I open the book to a random page and try to pay attention to the conversation between Ms. Denali and stupidest person I've ever heard speak. Just say you don't know, what's wrong with you? You're really not doing yourself a favor. What are they talking about anyway? It sounds wrong. I frown and flip through the book. I hear a chuckle and then his voice, very, very close to my ear.

"You're a week ahead. Conrad is next week. We're just doing the texts she handed out this week," he whispers.

Oh no. I start to panic but he shakes his head.

"Calm down. I'll give you my notes."

Notes? He has notes? What kind of notes? Class notes?

He opens his mouth, like he's going to say something, but instead he grabs a pencil sitting on the desk and quickly scribbles something in his notebook.

_I take notes as I read and make summaries. You can borrow them if you'd like, to follow along._

I notice his smug little smile and want to roll my eyes and tease him, make him feel silly for being such a little nerd, but instead I feel myself grinning, and the little smug smile turns into a sweet one, and his cheeks are pink again.

He hands over a piece of paper and I just stare. Date, class, week, assignment. His name. Notes in outline form referring back to the original text with page numbers. This boy isn't kidding around. I'm impressed. Is he super smart? Where is he planning to go for college? I turn to look at him, and he's staring straight ahead again; I can tell he's self-conscious, but I don't think he has any reason to be. I tap his arm with a pen to get his attention, and when he looks at me I say "thank you," but I don't really say it out loud. He nods, and then writes me another note.

_Bella, pay attention or we will both fail._

So I try, hard, but every time I slip and turn to my right, a pair of green eyes stares back at me. Right before the bell is supposed to ring it happens again, and it's my turn to write a note.

_Oh, Cullen... We are so fucked ._

And I'm not sure whether or not I've mentioned this, but he has the most beautiful laugh. The entire class turns around and stares, but it's impossible to stop. We are laughing together, and I've been here before. Except it wasn't this nice. This is much nicer.

Edward and I are still laughing as we put our things away. Um, awkward. Do I just leave? Say something? Wait for him?

"Uh, Bella?"

Thank you, Jesus.

"Yeah?"

"I'll see you at lunch?"

Oh. Oh shit.

"I'm so sorry, Edward, but not today. I just have... something I have to do."

He looks confused, then annoyed.

"Are you blowing me off?" he asks.

"What? W-why would you... Why would you think that?"

He shrugs, looks away. Definitely annoyed.

"Jane needs me, and I have to be with her today," I explain.

"Sure, whatever."

Um, what a _dick._

"Alright then, Edward. I guess I'll see you later."

"Yeah, later."

And he's gone.

Well that certainly wasn't what I had expected to happen today. He goes from sweet and funny and almost shy to total dick. I know were supposed to have lunch, but I'm not ditching Jane today of all days. I really don't understand what the big deal is. Should I text him and apologize? I kinda don't want to. He was rude. Ugh.

Jane doesn't say a word in chemistry, and lunch with her and Jasper is a somber event. Jasper looks disappointed when he calls Alice to let her know that he won't be around to hang out tonight. I really want to crack a joke about him dating a lesbian, but I stay quiet and think about my next class and seeing Edward and how he will act when he sees me again.

"Bella, I can't do Port Angeles tomorrow. Mom needs me," Jasper says, finally speaking after over twenty minutes of silence.

"Yeah, I know." _Big _surprise. Jasper doesn't leave his mother's side unless he absolutely has to when their father is gone.

"Jane, you should go with them," he tells his sister, punching her lightly in the arm. Jane shakes her head and mumbles something I can't make out. Um, thanks, best friend. She knows I'm annoyed, because when our eyes meet she looks away, pretending to check out a freshman skank's bag.

"Whatever, Edward hates me anyway, I'd rather not be stuck spending an entire afternoon with him," I tell them.

"Why would he hate you?" Jasper asks.

"I said I'd eat with him today but canceled." I poke the uneaten pizza sitting on my plate with the end of a plastic knife.

"Why?"

"I wanted to make sure you guys were okay."

Jasper shakes his head and Jane looks up, frowning at me.

"You were supposed to have lunch with Edward?"

Her voice is soft, sad.

"Yeah, we were texting last night," I explain. She doesn't say anything more a few moments, focusing on a bottle cap she has in her hands.

"Bella, go hang out with Edward," she finally tells me. Jasper nods in agreement.

"No, he was rude about the whole thing, asking me if I was blowing him off. It kind of annoyed me..."

Jasper throws his empty juice box at me. "Girls are fucking annoying, Bella. They pull shit like that all the time, I'd be pissed too."

Yeah, well, he should know better. I toss the stupid juice box back in Jasper's general direction and notice that I have grape juice on my knee now. I wipe it off with my finger and taste it. Gross.

"I don't even know where he is..."

"How hard could it be to find him? It's a pretty small school, Bella."

Jasper's right. If I want to find him, I can find him. I nervously start chewing around my nail. Gross habit. Jane can't stand it. She picks up the juice box and the rest of our garbage to throw out. Her body language is different from what it was earlier. She looks upset, but not sad upset.

"I'm going inside to get some work done. I need a table. Go find him, or... Discuss him amongst yourselves," she says. Before I can say "what the fuck, Jane?" she's made her way back inside.

Jasper sighs and leans back against the tree we are sitting under.

"She's not okay," I tell him.

"She hasn't been for a while now. Actually, I have to get some work done too. Wanna help?"

"No! And what do you mean by that? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Quiet time, Swan. Go find Cullen or shut up."

It's National Hate Bella Day. As much as I want to figure out why Jane is acting the way she is, I'm done playing babysitter to the Whitlocks for the time being. Yeah, I get it. Their mother is certifiable and their dad leaves to go see his girlfriend in Seattle a few times a year. Shouldn't they be used to it by now? It's like someone died every single time, and today I have no patience left and I'm feeling incredibly selfish. I could have been with Edward this entire time. I can still be with Edward for the next fifteen minutes. I'm going to find him. And I'm going to make him eat half this pizza. He's not in the cafeteria, he's not outside, he clearly isn't using this time to be athletic, so I'll just skip the gym... The music room perhaps? Auditorium?

I try the auditorium first, but run into the football coach and Mrs. Cope who are standing in a corner, whispering. Why so angry, Mrs. Cope?

Strange.

I head to the music room next. He has to be here. The door is closed but I don't bother to knock before I open it. Classroom doors are never supposed to be closed.

"Bella!"

Smile, Bella. This is where you smile a lot and act fake. At least try.

"Hey Kate, what's up? Hey Edward…"

…stop staring at your feet like a guilty child.

"Mr. Mason's not here?" I ask.

"Were you looking for him? He's in his office," Kate informs me.

"Thanks." I smile. Don't look at him, Bella. Fuck him. Is this where he is every day at lunch? Stupid, stupid, stupid. I walk over to the dainty little pink wastepaper basket sitting behind the piano and throw the rest of my pizza into it.

With a wave to Kate, I walk back out. Well that's that, then. Not that I have any right to be upset - I barely know the guy. And it's not like they were touching or kissing or reenacting scenes from his favorite porno on the stupid piano. They just happened to be in the same room together.

Same room. Together.

Who cares about whether or not I have the right to be upset? I am upset, and I can be upset for however long I want to be upset. He's kissed her, and he's probably done other things too. So sitting in classrooms behind closed doors – not so innocent, Mr. Cullen. But not guilty, either. Because you haven't done anything wrong. But I'm still upset. I wanted to share my pizza with you. You don't understand, I love pizza so much. The cheese, the dough, the crust. I love the crust so much, and I would have given you all the crust. Even most of the cheese. But no, you just enjoy Kate Denali, who would be the size of a whale if she had a slice of pizza, because come on, look at her mother. And if that's what you want, fine. Go. Go for it.

I lean against a locker down the hall from the music room and wait for the bell to ring. I have some time to kill but no desire to read anything or talk to anyone.

"Bella!"

_Go away. _

Why can't he just read my mind? Stop walking towards me. Turn around, go back into that room. Stupid boy.

"Bella, can I talk to you for a second?"

I shrug. But I know that he knows I'm just pretending not to care.

"Listen, I was a jerk this morning. And I wasn't… She just walked in while I was practicing and – "

I shake my head. "No, you… I don't care… it's none of my business."

"You don't care."

I shrug again, but this time I look up into his eyes. He moves closer to me and leans against the locker as well.

"But you threw away my pizza."

His pizza?

"I didn't think you wanted it," I say.

"I wanted it." There is a hardness to his voice. My eyes are on his throat when he speaks. I feel so uncomfortable right now. Like I want to get away, but if I do, I'll die.

"Do you want… other things too?" I ask, pointing towards the music room.

"Not particularly."

"But if it's offered…"

"If it's offered I'm not one to say 'no', Bella," he tells me.

Huh. Well, he's honest…

I'm not sure how to respond to that, so I count the seconds until the bell rings.

"I was supposed to go out with her last night," he says.

I run my fingers over the cool metal of the locker and watch his eyes follow their movements.

"Kate," he explains.

"Yeah, I got it," I snap. His eyes leave my fingers and settle on my face.

"Simmer down. I didn't."

"Why not?"

"You really have to ask?"

"Yeah," I say. "I'm not psychic. I don't just _know_ things."

"Good to know. Anyway, I canceled." He smiles, scratching his head. He is squinting, waiting for me to say something. I'm not sure what to say. He canceled…

I smile.

"You're really very difficult, Bella." He laughs.

"What? Why?"

He doesn't answer, just shakes his head and gives me the yummy smile. The I-don't-know-what-to-do-with-you-but-I'm-sure-that-whatever-we-do-I'll-show-you-a-good-time smile. This makes no sense, except it totally does.

"What do you want me to say? I'm not exactly going to jump up and down and clap my hands because you canceled on Kate and spent the night texting me… at least not until you turn around and walk far enough away so that I don't end up embarrassing my – "

What was I saying? He is standing so close to me right now and he's playing with a strand of my hair and I'm feeling lightheaded. Dizzy. Snap out of it, Bella. He's just a boy, playing with my hair. Just a boy playing with my hair.

"We should go to class," he tells me. He doesn't stop and doesn't let go.

"Yeah…"

"I should call you tonight," he almost whispers. He's just a tiny bit closer now.

"You should."

"I shouldn't kiss you right now." He frowns, staring at my mouth.

"No, not right now," I tell him.

But my hand reaches up to his face and I run my thumb over one of his eyebrows. He looks surprised by the randomness of what I just did, but his eyes close and he takes that last step right before he's supposed to kiss me, and Jesus, his breath, and his hand is so strong, and didn't you just say you shouldn't do this, Edward? But don't listen to me, I'm crazy. Yes, yes, yes. You're so tall and now your mouth is almost on mine and here, I'll stand on my tiptoes, if that makes it easier. Oh God, your lips are on the corner of my mouth, but not on it, and they are soft, soft, soft. So sweet. Just, Edward, ugh just –

"Shit."

"I know." I nod in agreement.

"I knew that bell was going to ring."

"And yet you kept stalling, Edward."

"I wasn't stalling. I was… I don't know what I was doing." He chuckles.

We each take a step back and awkwardly stand like that until a kid tells me I'm blocking his locker.

"Let's go to class," I say.

"Yeah, before the second bell goes off and we're fucked."

"Mr. Mason is such a dick. What? Why are you laughing? He is!"

Edward stops laughing and puts on a serious face, but can't maintain it. "You're just funny."

"It's impolite to almost kiss a girl and then laugh at her, Mr. Cullen."

He holds the door to the music room open for me and I thank him. The hour passes by so quickly, I actually participate and Mr. Mason agrees with everything I say. I had thought that this was an applied music class, or a lame music theory class, but it's like a history of music class, which is totally cool. Or maybe it's just what we're doing today? Do I care? I don't even think Mr. Mason does. He just talks, and ends up saying some interesting things today, so I tune in a couple of times. I really should pay more attention. Chem and history are the only classes I pay attention in. Maybe I should do some homework tonight. What's the purpose of this stupid year? Edward has really nice hair and Jane is so wrong, there are no highlights. When he thinks no one is looking he runs his hands through his hair to mess it up. It's adorable. Shit, he caught me staring. Stupid face, you're so red. Stop it, he's laughing at you. And me, because of you. Not that he's in any position to make fun of me for blushing, he totally blushes all the time. He likes me. He likes me. He likes me. I'm so incredibly pathetic. And awesome. No wonder he likes me. Is class over? I guess it's over. I have a text from Jane. _B- ignore me. I'm in a bad mood._ She sent it over an hour ago. I write back and tell her to shut up, and that I love her.

I almost don't notice Edward standing outside the classroom as I'm walking out.

"Daydreaming?"

"Always." I smile.

"Jasper just walked by. He said to ask you about tomorrow?"

"Yeah, um. They're not going to be able to make it."

"Oh, that sucks," he says, staring at his shoes. They are so adorable. Almost like booties but men's shoes. I wonder what they are.

"Yeah…"

I shift my weight from one foot to another. Maybe if I give off an impatient vibe, he'll say something.

"So maybe we can… do you still want to do something?" he asks me.

"Yeah… Sure. I mean, if you'd like," I tell him.

"Yeah, why not? We get out early."

I nod. "Those are excellent reasons, Edward."

Laughing, he shakes his head and runs his hand through his hair.

"Those are shit reasons," he admits.

"So, um, will Rosalie…"

"No. I mean, unless you want her to…?"

"I think just us is okay," I tell him.

His eyes are so green right now, and they're staring into mine. I realize that we've made it all the way to the gym and I have to go inside. I wait for him to say something.

"Yeah," he agrees, looking mildly horrified and utterly confused. "Just us."

With a tight smile, he's off. And I swear, he sprints down the hall.

I stare at him until he disappears from view, then I turn to head into the gym, where I won't pay attention to anything that happens there for the next forty minutes.

**A/N: Some of you may remember that I participated in a fun little Christmas surprise called Santa's Little Ficsters, along with a few fellow fanfic writers. We're at it again for Valentine's Day. Put Cupid'sLittleFicsters on author alert and you'll get a bundle of Valentine's One Shots on February 14th! ****http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/u/2183171/**

**(Yes, Spangly, I copy/pasted that from Chapter 18 of GwaRU)**

**Thank you for reading, and go check out Burn and Shine by pulsepoint. It's my newest obsession.**


	9. You like this

**This chapter is for Lindsey and Ali.**

**Many thanks to ciaobella27 for prereading.**

**My beta is more awesome than yours. Thank you, WriteOnTime, for letting me talk about this while you were trying to eat nachos and garlic bread on a Saturday night. **

**Since I last updated, I've been made a VIP author on A Different Forest. My stories have a second home there and it's really lovely – if you haven't checked it out yet, you should! Once everything is set up I will be posting **_**Brown Study **_**teasers there. **

**I don't own Twilight. **

Sometimes you hear things that don't surprise you. The person who came to you with the information waits, but the shock or surprise or curiosity they were expecting to find on your face never appears. Then there are times when you learn something, or figure something out, and you can't go to sleep that night because of the possibility that nothing in your life is what you thought it was, and when you wake up in the morning you will have to live with this new truth. Sort of like a new reality.

When Jane told me that Mr. Whitlock was going to be a father again, but that her mother was not pregnant, I didn't really react. It didn't surprise me. Last April, Jasper asked me to accompany him on a trip to Seattle. I knew he wanted to see for himself whether or not his father was cheating again, and I was pretty curious myself. It wasn't difficult to find Mr. Whitlock, since he had told his family where he was staying. I shopped and had lunch while Jasper went to confront his dad. He said there was no one else at the apartment, but under one of the throw pillows on the couch there was a Juicy hoodie, like Jane's. Except Jane had never visited her dad in Seattle. Upon our return to Forks, Jane didn't react to the news. Neither one of them told Mrs. Whitlock – they were too scared.

"Do you think it's the same woman?" she asks me.

I prop myself up on my elbow and look down at her face, shrugging.

"How far along did you say she was? Four months? Could be, I mean..."

"Yeah, or it could be anyone else." Jane sighs, closing her eyes.

"Is he not coming back?"

She shakes her head. "At first he said they're moving to Port Angeles until he finds a buyer for the store and offices, or until we graduate or leave for college. Then after we all talked he said that even if he does find a buyer he's not moving to Seattle until we leave Forks."

"Well, he's not abandoning you..." I point out, knowing that what I'm telling Jane is bullshit. She gives me her "I'm not stupid" look and rolls onto her side, facing me.

"Jasper's such an idiot," she tells me. "The minute dad walked in today, he attacked him. And then when dad started to pack his stuff he was practically begging for him to stay. That's when I left and came here."

"He didn't want him to leave, Jane," I say, brushing away a tear from under her eye. She sniffles and presses her face against my hand. I do all the things my mother does to me when I'm sad, but it only gets worse.

"It's going to be okay. I know it hurts, but... but it's just a bad situation and maybe this will be better for your mom," I whisper, running my hand over her hair.

"How? When we go off to college, she'll have no one. How do we abandon her like that? She has no friends, no family..."

"Don't you think she's a little difficult –?"

"No!" Jane cries out, cutting me off. "That's not the point. I want to get so far away from her, but this is just... he's having a baby with someone else. Can you imagine? Her _husband. _And then if we leave too... I hate being selfish, but this isn't fair. I want to go!"

"Stop it! You're going. With me. Listen, your mom is crazy, and controlling, and irrational, but she loves you guys. She would never let you stay behind because of her. I promise, you'll leave. With me," I tell her.

Jane gives me a wry smile. "Yeah, with you. And Hat Guy. Just the three of us."

"You're acting crazy, Janey. Where am I going with Hat Guy? I barely know him." Hearing the words come out of my mouth upsets me. I look down at my hands and toes, watching them move, but I feel... heavy. A familiar feeling of dread greets me when I think about what I just said. I barely know him. I don't know his plans. I'm nothing to him. We go off to college soon. I know it's unlikely, and that even thinking about it is completely crazy, but if Hat – if _Edward_ and I are together and decide to go to the same school, it won't be Bella and Jane, like it's always been and was supposed to be in college as well. And if it _is _just Bella and Jane, that will be... I can't even think about what that would mean.

"Bella, are you okay?" Jane asks me.

"Yeah, really hungry..." I realize.

Jane shakes her head. "What did you eat today?"

"Wow, umm... nothing. I got rid of my pizza, and I hate beef stew, so I told my mom I'd make myself a sandwich."

Yes. I threw out my pizza because I was angry with Edward for hanging out with Kate. Bella, you fool. He's just a guy who flirts with you when it's convenient for him. How can you even think that not having him around would be more painful than not going off to college with Jane?

I make my way downstairs to find something to eat and bring Jane back some cookies. The house is quiet, so I'm surprised to see my father sitting at the kitchen table. Usually, by nine o'clock, my parents are both in their room, watching something stupid like that show with Charlie Sheen and the fat kid, but I think there is a PTA meeting tonight.

Dad has a book in his hands and gives me a quick wave. I put my hand on his shoulder and give it a squeeze, and he pats it, looking up to smile at me before returning to his book. Sometimes he likes to sit here and read while dunking cookies in cold milk like he's five years old. I try not to disturb him, because he needs all the peace and quiet he can get after working all day. When I place three chocolate chip cookies on a plate to take to Jane, I leave a few in a plate in front of him as well.

"Bella," he says, startling me.

"Hey daddy."

"Janey okay?"

I shrug. "Not really. Why? Did you hear something?"

"I was passing by their house on my way home and saw her father carrying some bags to the car. I think there was a suitcase by the door," he tells me.

"Yeah, he left," I confirm.

"Comes off like a great guy, a family man. If I didn't know any better, that is." I notice how angry he looks right now, shaking his head and taking a deep breath. "Go take care of Jane, sweetheart. Mom will be home from her meeting soon, I'll tell her to leave you two alone."

When I open the door to my room, I see Jane sitting on my bed, playing with my iPod. She must have washed her face while I was downstairs, and while you can tell she was crying recently, she seems calm now.

"Cookies?" I ask, holding out the plate for her to take.

"Yes, thank you. Your phone kept ringing," she tells me, and places the plate on her stomach.

"Who was it?"

"I don't know, just check."

Ignoring her attitude, I search for my phone, only to find it lying on my pillow. Um, Jane, did you really not see who was calling? I look at her until I catch her eye and raise an eyebrow. She shrugs, and after placing the cookies on my bedside table, turns her back to me.

_It's him._

After his strange exit this afternoon, I have been preparing myself for the worst. Before Jane came running up the stairs and into my room, I had been repeating our conversations in my head, trying to figure out what made him flee from me like that. All we did was agree to hang out tomorrow. He almost kissed me, so I don't understand why he would react that way to the prospect of a date. Maybe he saw someone walking up to us? Someone he's dating? Oh. My. God. I'm not going to tolerate any nonsense. He's cute, but he's no god. He seems smart, but has yet to prove it to me. He's sweet but he's not... Hat Guy. I mean he is, but he's not. And why hasn't he left me a message? Voicemail, Edward? Who calls and doesn't leave one?

So I think maybe I should call him back. That would probably be the right thing to do. I'd call anyone else back… so why not him?

Jane is still lying down on my bed with her back turned to me. I fight the urge to shove her off. My fingers become really slow and awkward and keep hitting the wrong keys on my phone. Maybe Jesus, or one of his people up there, doesn't want me to talk to Edward. Well, too bad, because he's calling me. Again.

I feel triumphant. People win long races, make groundbreaking discoveries, stand up to their adversaries, and make the world a better place. All that is pretty cool, but um, Edward Cullen is calling me. Again.

"Hey."

"_Hey, busy_?" he asks.

"Not particularly."

"_I'll take that as a 'no'. What's up?_"

"Mmhmmm... Nothing much. Hanging out with a friend," I tell him.

"_Cool..._"

"So...?"

"_Yeah?_" he asks, and he sounds annoyed. Am I missing something?

"Um, _you _called _me._ Anything –"

"_What friend?_"

"I'm sorry?"

"_Nothing_," he coughs.

"Umm, you need a glass of water, that cough is nasty. Anyway, Jane is here."

"_Cool_," he says again.

"Uh huh..."

"_What are you two up to?_"

"Just lying around in my room – nothing exciting. You?"

"_Same_."

"Cool," I tell him.

...

I wait, but he says nothing. It's really annoying, because I hate weird silences over the phone even when I'm talking to someone I know well. Right now it's just awkward, and I think I want to hang up. Is he going to make plans or not? I'm going to count to three, and if he doesn't say or do anything, I'll tell him I'm busy and that I'll see him tomorrow at school.

One.

Two.

"_So, are we hanging out tomorrow?_" he asks. My body jumps and I bite down on my knuckles because I don't want him to hear my stupid smile when I speak. Jane immediately rolls back toward me and furrows her brow in question.

"Yeah," I tell him. Jane continues to stare.

"_Any idea what you want to do? We were supposed to go to Port –"_

"We can do whatever… you're new in town, so you pick." Jane lies back down and starts chewing on a cookie. I start flicking her arm with my finger, but she moves it out of my reach.

"_Alright, I guess we can decide tomorrow_," he says.

"Yeah…"

"_I should let you go, since you're hanging out with a friend._"

"Oh, okay," I reply. My voice comes out like a pathetic whimper and that makes me blush.

"_Bella,_" he says, "_before I go, when do you want –"_

"After school?" I really mean _right _after school. Please say yes and don't think I'm sad and lonely and annoying because I want to spend every second I have around you.

"_Sounds good. I'll obviously see you in class before then, but… we'll leave right after the last bell?_" he asks.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

"Cool," I agree.

"_Okay, I'll see you tomorrow_…"

"Uh huh, goodnight, Edward."

"_Goodnight. Text me if… you know, anything comes up or something_," he mumbles.

"Sure, 'night."

I doubt anything will come up, but I know there are hundreds of somethings I'd like to text to him. I just don't know what. I know nothing. But when it comes to us, I sort of know everything. No, not really, I just know that he kisses me and has sex with me when we're older. Maybe I'm making the rest up in my head. Who knows? Maybe I'm just his mistress, or a friend with benefits, a fuck buddy. Maybe I'm so in love with him but he's not in love with me at all. Maybe I'm annoying myself again. Yeah. I'll stop. I want to send a text, but we just spoke and I'm not text-stalking Edward tonight. Plus, I need my beauty sleep, and my best friend can't stand the sound the keys make when I'm typing on my phone.

"Jane?"

When she doesn't immediately say "Bella?" I poke her, but she doesn't move. She's awake, because she'd definitely react if she were asleep. She didn't move on purpose, but if she wants to pretend, that's fine – she's had a tough day. And I'm too tired to care right now.

"Aw, you fell asleep. Goodnight, Jane," I whisper. The only sound I hear is that of my very loud yawn. If she was actually sleeping she'd stir or mumble something. Jane is a terrible actress.

XxXxX

If things don't go well today and Edward and I end up hating each other, this class is going to be awkward. Despite the insane amount of money our parents spend on tuition each year, our desks are probably five thousand years old. First of all, they're made for smaller people. And when was the last time you saw these two-pupil desks? While I will thank God each and every second that I get to share a desk with Edward, I'm going to end up at community college if our legs keep touching. Even community college seems like a stretch with the way things are going now. When Jane moves to LA to attend art school, I'll be flipping burgers at an In-N-Out.

I get that he has long legs. In fact, I appreciate his long legs and realize that one does not complain of such wonderful things, but come on, Edward. You had no problem stretching them out in front of you yesterday, or the day before. Did you grow overnight? Is this new position that comfortable? Do you realize that if you sit with your legs apart like that, your left leg keeps touching my right leg? Or that I can't help but steal mini-glances every other second? I'm a smart girl, but I'm not a genius. I work hard, but I'm easily distracted. You, Edward Cullen, are a major distraction. An attractive nuisance. I see you, and I want to run over and play. I know not of the inherent dangers that would probably make me want to stay away. Basically, it's all your fault.

There! That's an excellent example of how you are ruining my life. Do you really have to sit back like that, with the space between your legs bigger than it was a second ago? Listen, I know that my entire body is turned toward you and that my knees are begging for more contact with your leg, but I just happen to sit like this all the time. It's really not _you, _Edward.

I shift a little in my seat and our legs touch. He turns to me and I roll my eyes at him as my hand pushes away his leg. I'm flirting like I'm in middle school, and I have no shame. Edward grabs my hand and holds my fingers. He looks straight ahead and continues to take notes. I feel his nails on my palm. Not scratching – they're just there. He plays, he almost lets go, he holds. I try to pull my hand away but he won't let me. He's concentrating so hard today, and it makes me feel guilty. I also need to take notes, and I obviously can't.

"Edward," I whisper, "I need my hand back... To write."

He shakes his head, gripping my fingers tightly in his.

"You can have my notes."

XxXxX

I look fine.

Why didn't I tell him to pick me up from home? I could have changed and brushed my hair, maybe done something to make my face look less pale. I can't believe I'm going to Port Angeles with Edward looking like this. I didn't even bring a sweater to school this morning. I'm going to freeze. Normally, this wouldn't upset me, and I'd think well, now I have an excuse to sit closer to Edward or borrow his jacket, but I'm fairly certain that he isn't wearing one, and no matter how tightly he holds me, I'm going to freeze.

I'm an idiot. Jane woke me up this morning when I was in the middle of the best dream. Not an Edward dream, but a nice one nonetheless. I was running around this field of flowers that I used to play in as a kid. It was a warm, sunny day. Clearly, I have a hard time distinguishing between real life and dreams, because I dressed like I would on a really warm day.

Not much I can do about it now.

I untuck my shirt and undo an extra button. I roll up my skirt until it's barely visible under my shirt. Too much. I bring it down an inch. Pinch my cheeks. Make sure my hair looks decent. Smile. That's fine. Let's get this over with.

Edward is waiting for me outside and it surprises me that I have to squint to see him because the sun is in my eyes. Maybe I am dressed appropriately after all. He smiles, I faint. Not really, but close enough.

"Hey," I say, giving him a pathetic wave. Why are you waving? He's right here. _Loser_.

"Hey, ready to get out of here?" he asks.

"Yes, please."

We walk to his car, and Edward opens my door for me. It's normal. Familiar. But not at all. His eyes are very serious and a dark, dark green when I look up into them. I stop myself from reaching up and touching him like I did yesterday by the lockers. Everything in my head, inside of me, keeps telling me to touch, speak, feel, do.

Instead, I sit and wait for him to drive us to Port Angeles. He sits in the driver's seat, but before he starts the car he runs his hands up and down his thighs. I think he's nervous. This is followed by a quick shake of the head, and then we're off. He drives fast. After a few seconds, I'm able to tell him to slow down because I'm scared. He laughs and tells me I'm safe, and that I should get used to it if I want him to pick me up for school sometimes.

"Why would you do that?" I ask.

"You don't want me to? Do you even have a car?"

"Um, yeah I do, I just hate parking it at school. Jasper and Jane pick me up in the morning."

"Alright then." Edward shrugs. "You don't have to get used to my driving since you won't be spending too much time in my car."

"Why do you always have to be such a dick? Relax. Why would I assume that you'd want to pick me up for school? That's just weird," I tell him, making sure I sound annoyed and a little bitchy.

"What's weird? Wanting to pick you up? Or actually picking you up?"

"Uh, both, maybe?" I answer.

"Don't even act like you don't want to be around me," he says.

"Right, like you're any better. Oooh, I _really _have to stretch my legs and open them super wide or I'll die. I'm such a big boy. Ooops, is that your _leg_, Bella?"

Edward laughs. "Please. Could you possibly sit any closer? The teacher's in front of you, Miss Swan, not to your right – in case you're confused. And that's right." He smirks.

"What's right?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing," I repeat.

He completely ignores me until we stop at a red light.

"So, which way do I go?" he asks me.

"Do you actually still want to hang out? I don't think I can sit in this car with you all the way to Port Angeles."

"I have nothing better to do, might as well tolerate you until I have to go back home and do my homework," he mutters.

"Oh, God forbid you don't have your notes typed up and highlighted for class tomorrow."

"How the fuck did you even make it to senior year?" he asks me. Dick. Dick. Dick.

"Fuck you. I get all A's, Cullen. And I definitely don't need pathetic typed-up notes with bullets and different colors –"

"Notes you'll be begging for soon, because all you do in class is smile and show me your legs."

"Excuse me? My legs are hidden under the desk. I'm not showing you anything. You've sat next to me for what? Two classes? I think maybe you were just seeing my legs in your dreams."

"Your legs are certainly _not _under the desk in my dreams," he informs me.

Of course not. You like them wrapped around you, on both sides of your head, over your shoulders. Every night you like something new, something different. You just don't know it yet. Now shut up and be nice, because I'm not into kissing assholes. And you're acting like an asshole right now.

"You are disgusting," I tell him.

His face is pink and he's taking deep breaths, both hands tight on the steering wheel.

"I'm sorry," he says softly.

I sigh. "It's okay."

"Look, do you want me to take you home, Bella?" Edward asks.

I know that face. He's actually sorry. If I place my hand over his cheek he will push his face against it and close his eyes. I can't do that right now. We don't touch like that. Or maybe we do. I know he was holding my hand earlier. It's all I thought about in every class, during lunch, as we waited together for the bell to ring before music.

His right hand is still on the wheel, knuckles almost white because of how tightly he is gripping it. I cover it with my left hand and the second I do his fingers relax, and I take them into my own and place them in my lap. He's smiling again, looking bashful, and sort of ducking his head because he doesn't want to meet my gaze. Everything feels good. I want this boy so much.

"Keep going straight. It's nice out, fuck Port Angeles," I tell him.

"Where –"

"Shhh, just drive. Do you like nature?"

"What kind of asshole would answer 'no' to that?" He laughs.

"Do you like flowers?" I giggle.

"Bella…"

"Fine! Do you like pretty things?" I ask, my eyes on the long fingers I'm holding in my hands.

He yanks his hand away, but before I can protest he pulls me closer to him until my head is resting against his shoulder. He reaches out to find my hand, and I'm not sure how I am still breathing.

"I do."

And his lips are on my fingers.

Oh.

XxXxX

"This place is pretty cool, how'd you find it?" Edward asks me, sitting with his elbows on his knees and his hands under his chin.

"My dad used to bring me here to play when I was little. Jane would come too sometimes," I reply.

"What would your dad do while you played?"

What a strange question. "He would read. My parents had me when they were nineteen, so he had to drop out of school. He went back when I was five or six, so he'd come here to study because it's so quiet. Peaceful."

Edward smiles. "Peaceful? With two kids running around?"

"Jane and I just talked. Or sat and told stories," I explain. "He loved being out here, and we were good kids. We understood that he had work to do."

I lie back and turn my face to him, wondering if I can reach up and play with the buttons on his shirt. How funny that just half an hour ago we were bickering, and his eyes were angry, and I thought he was a dick.

"When was the last time you brought a boy here?" he asks, with a playful smile and a brush of a fingertip against my hand.

"Never. I haven't been here in years. It's just, I had a random dream last night – I was back here. It felt nice. I guess I've missed this place," I tell him.

He is running the back of his fingers over my hand. Watching his movements, I blush.

"So, um... was I here?" he asks.

"Huh?" My heart jumps and tries to run, run, run, but it's still stuck in my chest, no escape, and I don't want to respond to his question.

"In your dream. Was I here with you?"

"Not this one," I tell him honestly.

He lies down next to me and we move closer. I realize that my mouth is open and my breaths are heavy. Almost like I'm panting, and my heart is beating so fast that I hear it in my ears and in my chest, and I'm so wound up but so, so warm.

"Are you cold?" he asks.

"No, why?"

"It's getting a little chilly…"

"Yeah, I guess… but I'm fine," I assure him.

"I wish I had a jacket or a sweater…" he mumbles.

"It's okay," I smile. Please, please hold me.

"Your legs must be freezing," he says.

No, I'm fine.

"Maybe just a little," I lie.

He moves closer and my hand is on his chest. I think he is going to kiss me, but he just places an arm around me, and he's holding me.

"Better?" Edward asks.

"Yes."

I don't like silence, because I always feel like I have to fill it with something, especially when I'm with a boy. A story, a joke, a cough or fake sneeze. It makes me very uneasy. I can only handle silence when I'm with Jane. And I guess I can handle it with Edward. I don't feel the need to blurt out a random fact or clear my throat. I just… feel. And he's warm and smells nice. And his hand rubs my back and slides down my hip and sneaks under my shirt for a second or more.

"What are you doing this weekend?"

I think. What _am _I doing this weekend? Ugh.

"Nothing. It's my birthday… probably hanging out with Jane? Maybe Jasper too," I answer, my blush giving away the embarrassment I feel about having no plans for my eighteenth birthday, no big party to invite him to.

"Birthday, cool. Seventeen?" he asks, his hand moving up and down my arm.

"Eighteen," I correct him, suddenly feeling bold. I bring my face to his chest and press my lips to it. He likes having me against him like this. I feel it. I try to feel more of it. Knowing and feeling make me feel things too. I try to pull him to me as I roll onto my back. He resists and stays on his side, yet he is still so, so close, and he is still touching me.

"My parents are away this weekend. We should celebrate at my place," he suggests. I see how Edward is holding his breath. Is he nervous? Maybe.

"That sounds fun, but Jane and –"

"You don't think they'd come?"

"No, no. They'd totally come," I tell him. "I thought you meant…"

"Just us?" he smiles, his hand now under my shirt. Boys usually go straight to the boobs, but his fingers on my stomach or lower, but never low enough. Not even close.

"It was just a suggestion, Bella."

"I don't want to be… actually, yeah. Just to hang, though. Okay?" I ask.

"Sure," he nods.

He has big hands. I knew this, but they feel so big on me. He's not really doing anything, and I think he's staring at the top of my head, or at something behind me.

"Are we just hanging out, then?" Edward asks.

"Huh?"

He sighs and removes his hand from where it was sitting under my shirt.

"You mean, now?" I ask him.

He doesn't say anything.

"Are we not speaking?"

Edward shakes his head. "Of course we are. Forget it."

"I… I mean yeah, we're obviously hanging out," I say, trying to look him straight in the eye, "but I was under the impression that this was more like a… date."

"Yeah, so was I."

"So what's the problem?" I ask him, hoping we can get past this to feel his hand on me again.

"Bella, forget I said anything, alright?"

"Way to ruin a date, Edward."

He eyes narrow and I see a vein pop out on his forehead. "Ruin a date? Whatever. Listen –"

"I don't understand you at all. One second you're sweet and touching me and telling me to celebrate my birthday at your place this weekend, and the next thing I know you're attacking me."

"Yeah, I did ask you to celebrate your birthday at my place this weekend, and you had to point out that we'd just be hanging out," he snaps.

Oh.

"No! No, no, no. That's not what I meant _at all. _I just didn't want any, you know, celebration. Like we'd come over just to hang out, no big birthday thing. We don't do that – I don't do that. Maybe it was presumptuous of me, like why would you make a big deal out of it, anyway? But I don't know, better to be safe than sorry. Let me… let me make one thing clear, okay? I like spending time with you. I don't care how pathetic I sound, but if you want me to hang out at your house all weekend, I'm there. I mean, not _all _the time, because Jane and I have plans to do stuff on Sunday after my parents take me out for my birthday lunch, but yeah – every other second. This is so embarrassing, but I'm just putting it out there. You can walk away – after dropping me off, please, because I can't walk back home from here – for any reason, but not because I don't, you know, want you, or – "

What a dick. He's laughing. At me. He's laughing at me. Oh God. I'm going to slap him. I never thought I'd slap a guy, but he totally deserves to be slapped right now.

But I'd like to think that I have more class than that. Instead, I try to get up, but just as I lift myself off the ground, his arms pull me down.

"Where are you going?" he asks.

"_We_ are going back to your car."

"Are you mad? I didn't mean to laugh, but you looked so angry, and – you're right, I'm sorry," he says, the smile gone from his face, looking very serious.

"Listen, Bella," he continues, "I'm going to be honest, too. I like you."

This boy. I don't know what to do with him. I cover my face in my hands and lie back down.

"I'm going to touch you. You're quiet and smile a lot when I touch you," he says.

I open my eyes and watch him as he looks at me. Up, and down, and I blush because he wants, wants, wants me, and I want him back.

His hand is back on my stomach, except it's doesn't just sit there, it moves, and touches and tickles. My face is right next to his, and for a few seconds I don't notice the light drizzle, and when I do I don't care, because he's practically on top of me. His hand is on my belly and he plays with the stone hanging from my piercing, and he can probably hear my heartbeats, and he can probably tell that I can't control my breathing.

"Hold on. Don't move," he says, lifting my shirt a little. "I just want to try something…"

He pulls my shirt up just a little. His mouth. His mouth. Oh my God, his mouth. It's on my skin and it's soft, so soft, and the rain is on my face, but do I care? I don't care. His lips right below my belly button. My legs are shaking and he stills them, one hand holding my knees together. His tongue touches me. Once. Twice. Again. And he pulls back a little, his breath is so hot. And he kisses me again, this time over my piercing.

"Shit, it's raining," he says.

Huh? Yeah. Shut up. Do that again.

"Bella, let's get out of here. That was lightning."

He jumps up, pulling me with him and holding my hand as we run back to his car. My teeth are chattering when he starts it. My body is here but my brain is back _there,_ where his mouth was on my belly and the rain was on my face. He looks at me and his eyes are so wide. He turns on the heat and grabs my hands.

"You're cold again," he says. "Shit."

"What… You…"

"Come here," he tells me, wrapping his cold, wet arms around my body.

"Edward, I… I want soup. And dry clothes."

He laughs, pulling away from me.

"Let's go to my place, there's both," I tell him. "I'll give you a sweatshirt to wear."

"Sounds good."

It's nice and warm now. While it's not raining heavily at all, my clothes are pretty wet. I would just wait for them to dry if it was warmer out, but it's actually pretty chilly and soup will be delicious. I don't think my parents will be home, but it's fine if they are. We can eat, I can change, and then who knows? Maybe he'll stay, or maybe he'll go home and I'll sit on my bed thinking about him and his hands and his mouth.

"You licked me."

He turns to me and his cheeks are so flushed that it makes me giggle.

"Are you complaining? Should I apologize?"

I shrug. "It's fine. You probably couldn't help yourself."

He shakes his head but doesn't say anything. His fingers tap the steering wheel as we drive down the mostly empty road.

"Did you enjoy it, at least?" he asks after a few minutes pass.

I shrug again. This time I look up at him. My blush is probably answering his question. He smiles. It's a surprised smile which quickly turns into a cocky one.

"Why there?"

"Who not?" he answers.

"Fair enough…"

"Piercings and tattoos aren't my thing. I generally don't go for them," he tells me. "I don't know why I like yours so much, but I've been thinking about it since the day you showed it to me."

"That's because you like me," I tease him.

"Sometimes." He smiles.

"All the time," I tell him. "Oh, park there. My house is down the street, but this is a good spot."

While he is searching for an umbrella with half of his body in the back seat, I start to grab my bag that I left by my feet. He stops me.

"Your parents – you think they're around?"

"Probably…" I nod. I'm kneeling in my seat, facing him. It's uncomfortable.

Edward's hands are on my face and slowly move down to my throat. My shoulders. Arms. They move to my waist, up my sides. Back down, passing over my butt. I touch him too. His chest and stomach and face. He moves an inch, I move an inch. We are two inches closer.

First kisses always make me nervous. Second kisses too. I'm not nervous right now. I've been here, but I really haven't. I know how he feels, but I really don't. Nothing should take away from this moment. This boy is about to kiss me, and I would want it even if I wasn't in love with the man he becomes. Maybe he already is that man. Maybe I'm the one who has to grow into the woman I've seen. None of this matters. His face is very close to mine, and our noses touch, and my hand is on his thigh. My eyes are open because I have to stare back into his eyes, which won't let them go. This is the man with the hat. Passion and green eyes and warm breaths on my skin. These are the lips I love and they meet my mouth. They kiss me, and I kiss them back. Everything is awake, everything is alive.

"Come closer to me," he tells my mouth.

So I kiss him again and again, pressing my lips against his skin. His fingers grab me, and they move everywhere. _Bella. _I kiss back. Nothing is nicer than hearing my name. His fingers stop moving when they find my face again. They are gentle and push back hair and touch my temples and cheeks. His thumbs are strong and his hands hold my head, ending the kisses as he pulls back.

"You like this."

I nod because I do.

And then Edward kisses me. It's not the hottest kiss. He's not an expert and neither am I. But I know that I'd wait for years for one more kiss from him. I am shaking in his arms now and he is trembling in mine. He doesn't stop and gives and gives, and I give back. Edward has teeth and a tongue and they're so, so good. And when it's over, the rearview mirror shows us two scared kids. A girl with messy hair she tries to fix, and a boy watching her. His hand reaches out to stop her fingers that are combing through her hair. He likes her like this, but quickly retracts his hand, and she smiles at herself before turning to him.

"I still want soup."

"Nothing is ever enough for you."

"You."

"And soup."

"Come."

"Okay."

We walk down the street under the light drizzle. He doesn't use the umbrella in his hand. I take out my keys and lead him to the back, my brain telling me that mom hates it when I bring people through the living room. More lightning and thunder, and I jump but his arms are on me, around me. I lean back. His chest is hard and I'm surprised – he's so skinny, but I don't feel bones. Turning around, I find his wet hair and use it to bring him to me as I unlock the back door. One more kiss before we're inside. Then one on my throat, two on my neck, before I pull away.

I'm not surprised to see my dad sitting at the kitchen table, reading his book from last night, and eating what looks like pork chops and gross steamed vegetables. I watch as he picks up a piece of meat with his fork, and giggle when he almost misses his own mouth. Edward takes a step back from me. He is unnaturally red.

"Daddy," I say, trying to get him to look up from his book, "this is Edward."

With a smile on his face he holds up a finger, finishing a sentence or paragraph. He is still chewing his food and covers his mouth with his hand as he looks up. His friendly brown eyes grow wide. Does he know what we've been doing? He caught me with Seth once and didn't say a word. Why would he say anything now? He is completely still, his eyes on me, and then on Edward, and back on me again. They finally settle on Edward as he swallows. Edward starts to say something, and I ask my dad if he's okay, but we are both cut off by a loud cough.

"Dad, drink some water," I tell him, running to his side. His eyes are back on Edward when his cough subsides. My dad's a really quiet guy, a man of few words. Today he chooses one.

"You."

**What the fuck, Charlie?**

**Oh, before I forget – GiveUsAKiss413 just completed **_**We Used to Be a Love Story. **_**It's different, it's good, it's really angsty, but it's a must-read. You're welcome.**

**I want to say thanks to a bunch of people but I'm sleepy and they know I love them. Pool girls, posse people, crazy KStew fans who send me stuff all night. And you guys who read, because you're the best.**

**I reply to all my reviews with something nice. Sometimes it's a teaser, sometimes it's an obnoxious note from me, sometimes it's Edward's POV… so let me know what you think. **


	10. Everything here is nice

**Apologies for not sending out what was promised – I had to deal with a ton of shit these past couple of weeks, and only thirty-forty of you ever received anything from me. FFn informed me that AoC wasn't in compliance with the ToS, so I had to edit it. Then I changed my mind and decided to leave it on ADF because it's awesome there, and the edited version would have been ridiculous. Then I didn't have access to my account for a few days. Then there was work, work, work. Then Kristen Stewart was awesome and I got completely distracted. You know how it is. Forgive me. I promise I'll make up for it this chapter – I usually don't suck this much.**

**Anyway, thanks to ciaobella27 for reading. Thanks to Writeontime for putting up with me tonight – I was a brat, but she still sorta likes me. You guys are the best. Our little group is the best. I love you so much, all of you. **

**I don't own Twilight. I own squirt guns and a ticket to see **_**The Runaways**_** this weekend – I better see you there.**

"Daddy, do you know Edward?" I ask. Stupid question, because the way he's staring at Edward, and his accusatory "You," tell me that my dad knows Edward.

I watch as my father's expression goes from angry, to furious, to completely calm. He clears his throat and takes another sip of his water. I whisper "Daddy?" again, and his eyebrows shoot up. He looks at me, and then at Edward, and gives us both a sheepish smile.

"I don't know your friend, Bella," he finally says, his eyes still on the boy I was kissing a minute ago. "I'm sorry I scared you, Edward. Didn't expect my little girl to walk in with a strange guy in the middle of the day."

You didn't _what_, dad? I look at my father and stare at his perfect set of white teeth under his perfectly-trimmed mustache. Oh, Charlie Swan. I know that face. That's the face you put on for mom every time she's upset or about to call you out for having done something stupid. Except it's never stupid, but she thinks it is. And if mom thinks it's stupid, it's most likely the most rational, logical thing that could have been done in the situation, but that's neither here nor there right now. Don't use that face with me. Or with Edward. And explain what that was all about.

His smile falters for a second when our eyes meet, but it's back before I can open my mouth and say something.

"Let's try this again," he says, turning towards Edward, "Charlie Swan, Isabella's dad."

"Edward Cullen."

The boy with the long fingers and soft, pink tongue takes a few steps towards my father and offers his hand. My heart goes up, down, left, right, jumps, flips, then beats, beats, beats so insanely fast. The boy didn't sound like a boy. His voice was deep and clear and strong. I watch his hand as it shakes my father's, and I can tell it was a strong handshake, and they are staring straight into each other's eyes. And me? I'm nervously scratching myself, probably leaving disgusting marks along my collarbone and down my chest.

"Nice to meet you, Edward. I haven't really heard Bella talk about you before. New to the Academy?"

"Yes," Edward replies. "My family just moved to Washington from New York."

"Welcome to Forks, then," my dad says. Edward thanks him, and it's a battle of charming, brilliant smiles in the Swan kitchen this afternoon.

"We were caught in the rain, we came here to… I came here to change, and for some soup," I explain.

"I'd say Edward needs to change into something dry too, Bella. There are extra t-shirts from the station upstairs. Give one to your friend."

"Is mom here?" I ask.

"Just me, kiddo."

"Okay. Well, I'm going upstairs to change and get him a t-shirt. Medium okay?" I ask, turning to Edward.

He nods, and when he says "Thanks, Bella," everything is warm and I have to run out the kitchen, because I remember how he said my name earlier, and how the letter 'l' sounds when he says it between kisses and when his body is close to mine.

After I find a t-shirt for Edward and change into dry clothes, I run back to the kitchen. Edward is standing at the counter, staring out the window, and my dad is nowhere to be seen. I manage to say something utterly lame like, "Hey." Edward turns around and yes, he checks me out.

"Your dad said he'll be reading in the living room," Edward informs me.

I throw him the t-shirt and he catches it with one hand, smiling when he sees the police department logo on the front.

"Your dad's a cop?"

"He's the only detective in Forks," I tell him.

"You could've warned me. Law enforcement. What if I'm not a good guy, Bella?"

"Intuition." I shrug. "And I was right, you're totally the type of guy to bring home to mom and dad. You were so kissing up to him with your smile and perfect manners."

"All I did was introduce myself," Edward says.

"How many fathers have you introduced yourself to? The ease with which you dealt with the situation was impressive."

He blushes, and his face is serious and his eyebrows move closer together. "Where's the bathroom? I should change," he tells me.

I show him the way and start to heat up the soup while he's gone. We don't say much as we eat. There is a lot of blowing and slurping and spoons clanking on the table because we keep catching each other mid-stare, and there are coughs and averted gazes, too.

"That was good. Thank you," he says.

I smile at him as I reach out to take his bowl to the sink. He shakes his head and carries it over himself, rinsing it before turning back to me.

"Let me do that," he says, taking my bowl from my hand.

"Oh, thanks."

"No problem, whatever," he mumbles. "I uh, that's a nice color on you."

I look down at my t-shirt; it's my favorite shade of green. "Thanks."

"Uniforms suck. My old school didn't make us wear any."

"They're alright," I disagree. "It's easier to just put on the skirt and a white top and run out the door instead of, you know, having to come up with a new outfit every day."

"I guess." Edward dries his hands and leans back against the counter. "So…"

"Yeah…"

We stand around and I stare at the same inch of Edward's forearm for a long, long time until my mouth decides to work again.

"Do you have a lot of homework to do for tomorrow?" I ask.

"Not really. I got most of it out of the way yesterday and early this morning," he explains. "You?"

"Same," I lie.

"Cool…"

"Wanna hang out for a little bit? We could go upstairs, if you'd like…"

Edward turns his head towards the living room, and then back to me.

"He doesn't care."

Edward chuckles. "Are you sure about that?"

I nod. I always take my friends to my room. Boy, girl. It doesn't matter. I always keep my door open. There's no rule saying I need to keep it open, but I don't want to deal with the consequences in case my parents decide to institute one ex post facto.

I let my dad know we're going to my room and receive absolutely no response. Edward and I shrug and make our way up the stairs. I try to get him to walk ahead of me, suddenly feeling strangely self-conscious and not wanting my ass in his face as I climb up the stairs. It doesn't work, and I end up in front of him, my ass probably bouncing in thin leggings right in his face.

"And this… is where the magic happens," I joke, my cheeks burning immediately in response to my lameness.

Edward laughs and looks around. "I like it."

"Thanks."

He walks to the window and looks outside. "Holy shit, it's like a monsoon out there," he says.

I walk over and join him, pretending to give a shit about the rain. We're in Forks. It rains. Big deal. I watch his face and notice that he's not too interested in the rain either, but he's trying to make it seem like he is. I've managed to bore him already.

"So uh, what was that with your dad downstairs?" Edward asks. I jump, and he apologizes for scaring me.

"No, I just spaced out for a sec… Um, I don't know. That was weird, right?"

"Yeah, a little bit," he agrees.

I shrug. "Sorry, I don't know what's up with him."

"I like the t-shirt, by the way," he tells me.

"Oh… cool. It looks good on you?" I say, but it comes out like a question.

"Thanks?" Edward smiles and it makes me laugh.

"No, I'm serious."

"Do you have one too? Maybe we can match."

I shake my head. "No, and you just want to watch me change."

He doesn't say anything. We continue to monitor the weather conditions in Forks and I notice that I'm rocking back and forth with my arms across my chest. I don't expect to feel his hand on my skin, but it's there, and I look up into dark green eyes.

"Nice watch," he tells me, running a finger over the pink plastic of my ridiculous calculator watch.

"Yeah, everything here is nice. My t-shirt, your t-shirt, the soup, my watch."

His hand moves away, but mine follows it and I hook a finger into the faded leather strap of his watch.

"Nice watch," I tell him, yanking on the strap in an attempt to get him to move closer.

"Everything here is nice," he replies. And it worked, because my face is right up against his chest.

"Your skin, your …" Edward continues. I tilt my head up and he lowers his face until we're right there, at that perfect place.

His mouth is open. My lips part. I stand on my toes and try to move closer, but I lose balance on my left leg. He grabs me and holds me to him with a hand on my lower back. My nose touches his chin, then his nose. His cheek scratches mine. 'Kiss me,' I tell him with my eyes. 'Shut up,' he replies, by moving his forehead against mine. At first I count his breaths on my face. I hear each one. I feel and take and breathe back for him. On him. My fingers move up his shirt. They grab and hold and I'm back on my toes, and his eyes are green, and there's nowhere else I can look when they are open like this for me. His lips. They find my face. And his mouth leaves me kisses on my cheeks. My fingers open and close tighter around the cotton and I sway back and forth on my legs, unable to hold myself up. Another hand moves to my lower back to steady me. He moves me against the wall, and his body holds me up. Who is this boy in my room breathing against my skin like it's a normal thing to do? Why are my arms moving up to wrap themselves around his neck? Why has nothing ever felt better than the warm air from his mouth and his hair between my fingers? I play with that hair, run my fingers through it and down to the back of his neck, up and down. His skin is silk, and his hair… His hair.

"Bella… what?"

His mouth is wet and it finds my skin where my neck and shoulder meet. My body trembles and I hold on tighter, and he shakes his head and his lips are moving back and forth. I feel and feel and want to know what he's doing. Is something wrong, or is he trying to kill me with the way his mouth is moving over my skin? I tug at his hair. My nails scratch along his scalp. He finally looks up and Edward is still shaking his head.

"What is this?" He wants to know.

"Nothing bad," I assure him.

He nods, and I take his face into my hands. "My calves hurt."

His smile is delicious. Curved lips and teeth and tongue. I can kiss him against this wall all night if he keeps me in his arms like this.

"Better?" he asks.

"Are your arms tired? I'm heavy," I tell him.

"They're good for now," he whispers.

"Your legs? That's a lot of weight to suppo –"

_Yes_. Mr. Cullen. Sloppy kisser. You won't win any awards for technique. But I get it. I know. There's no room for precision here. No place for style. This can't be graceful, and who cares about form? This is earth-shattering. Your taste. Your taste, and hands. You are so eager. And I'm willing. Bite. Bite. Bite. Need. Want. Give, and give. Kiss me. Kiss me and dare to tell me it's been like this before. No. Never. You really like that word. Never, Bella. Never. Never. I like it better than the what, what, what you kept asking before. What Bella? _This. _Your mouth and mine, and your fingers digging, digging, and the thrill.

The thrill.

Then my feet are on the ground and his body isn't pressed up against me. Why? – I want to shout, but I hear the footsteps and I know. I fly onto my bed and grab a book. He is on the floor, a nice boy with his hands holding up his chin and his elbows resting on his crossed legs.

My father passes by my room, waving at us with a kind smile. My eyes are on Edward and his eyes are on me. I want to reach out and touch skin, but he's too far away. I wish I could stretch myself out until my fingertips find him. Or maybe will him to me.

"Your hair is a mess."

"So is yours."

"You weren't even touching my hair," I tell him, grabbing the brush from the table beside my bed.

"I guess your head was against the wall…"

"Better?" I ask, after running the brush through my hair a few times.

"I didn't say it was bad."

"You said 'never' a lot, and kept asking me 'what'…"

He runs his hands through the mess on his head. "Did I? I… I don't know."

"You know."

"If I knew, I wouldn't ask," he says.

"What were you asking?"

"Does it matter?" He moves closer to my bed, until I am able to reach out and touch his hair.

"No," I admit. "But did you get an answer?"

He shakes his head and laughs. "You tell me."

"I don't know what this is," I say. My fingers scratch and tug and play.

"But you know it's good," he whispers against my wrist.

"So, so good."

He kisses my skin all the way to my elbow. He talks, and talks, and listens, too. His mom can't cook, and Rosalie's dad lives in Africa. She plays the cello and hates Chicago. They're here because his mom is designing a house for a rich guy, and it's the opportunity of a lifetime. He hates needles and loathes sports. He likes cars and my freckles. His hands are always cold, and he won't believe me when I tell him they always feel warm. In the morning after a quiet, uneventful ride to school with Jane and Jasper, I sit next to him and he touches me with his cold hands, and I hold one hand between my thighs as he takes notes with the other. Ms. Denali stares and stares, but can't see what's going on from where she's standing in the front of the room. After he probably loses feeling in his fingers he removes his hand and I uncross my legs. He flexes and we stare at his fingers together, and then they find mine. They don't let me go until he has to leave me in front of the chemistry lab.

XxXxX

"She doesn't hate you. Stop being a drama queen."

I lean back against Edward's chest and sigh. "Then where is she? She just disappeared after class."

Jasper shrugs and bites into his sandwich.

"I had something important to ask her," I continue. "It's about my birthday."

"Bella, you're not changing your plans, are you?" Jasper asks, looking at me like I've lost my mind.

"No! It's just, Edward suggested that we hang out at his place on Saturday night, since his parents are out of town."

"That sounds fine," Jasper says, "I don't think Jane cares, as long as you don't cancel your plans with her."

"Yeah, but would she come?"

Jasper nods, saying "Yeah, why wouldn't she" – like my questioning it is ridiculous.

"You're free, right?" I ask Jasper.

"I was gonna hang out in Port Angeles with Emmett; there's a car show."

I turn my head and look up at Edward. "You like cars."

He smiles. "I'm going in the morning."

"Look at the two of you. Are you guys fucking? That took no time," Jasper says.

I throw my empty soda bottle at him.

"Jesus, Bella, I'm kidding."

"You need a girlfriend, Jasper. I know you and Emmett love each other and can't stand to be apart, but I suggest you go out and meet girls. The car show doesn't sound like the ideal place for that," I tell him.

"Don't worry too much about me, Swan. Anyway, about your birthday, mind if I bring Emmett?" he asks.

"I don't know. Ask Edward, it's his house."

Two strong hands cover my belly, and Edward leans forward until his mouth is just behind my ear.

"It's your birthday."

I smile at Jasper, who heard what Edward said. It's my birthday. I know those words are nothing, really, and maybe he's just being nice, but there's something about the way I'm resting against him, about the way he puts his hands on me, the way he says it's my birthday… Something that says he's not just being nice. Jasper smiles back, he gets it. He knows. He's heard me talking to his sister and he's seen her sketches.

"Cool," Jasper says, "I'll tell Emmett about it."

He can tell whoever he wants. I almost don't care who shows up as long as Edward's mouth is on my wrist or cheek, or his fingers and my fingers are all tangled up and my lips are on his soft, soft hair. Is this how it's supposed to feel? Like I'm taking tiny breaths very quickly but can't get enough air. Like every second lasts and lasts in his presence, but time goes by too fast. It's good. Like I told Edward, it's so good, but it's also different.

I've been trying to put all my memories of dreams away to focus on the present. Here. Now. Edward. It's been much easier than I would have anticipated, but I know there is something different. I felt it earlier when he came and snatched me away from Jane. It's like I know that Hat Guy wouldn't do that. Edward doesn't seem to care about anything outside of me and him. Us. The way he looks at me, and the way he's so focused on everything I say. How different is he from the new kid who acted like a jerk and ignored me?

"Bella! Stop staring at Cullen's hand. Geez, it's like I'm not even here."

Jasper is laughing in my face. My face burns when I realize how I managed to get lost in my head again. Luckily, Edward is behind me and can't see.

"You're boring, Jasper. You managed to put me to sleep," I say, stretching out my arms and pretending to yawn. I feel Edward's body relax against the tree and I allow myself to completely relax against him. I'm not sure how we found ourselves in this position. I'm waiting for a teacher to walk by and glare at us, forcing us to sit up. I'll have to leave my place between his legs.

"Are you comfortable?" I ask Edward, prepared to hear one answer only.

"Yeah."

One-word responses. This actually doesn't surprise me much. His mouth rarely moves to form words in my dreams.

"Do you like chocolate?"

Resting my head against his chest and looking up to see his face, I tell him 'yes.'

"Do you like beer?"

His arms are around me, so I struggle for a second to turn around and completely face him. Edward is so hot. Not hot like Shia is hot, or Mark Wahlberg is hot... He's hot like that too, but what I mean to say is that his body is hot. His skin. Warm. Maybe he thinks mine is too, because his eyes close and he takes a sharp breath through his mouth. I watch how his Adam's apple bobs as be swallows. I want to reach out and touch it.

A second ago, I turned around because I was curious about his random questions. I appreciate the effort, because he's trying to get to know me. But I forget to ask why we are talking about beer and chocolate. I just smile instead.

"So yeah? You like beer?" he asks to confirm.

Not at all. Beer is disgusting. "Yes."

"Cool."

"Where's my sister? I never thought I'd miss having her around for lunch," Jasper says.

"She'll turn up," I tell him, craning my neck to see if she's anywhere nearby.

"Class in fifteen," he comments.

Class in fifteen? What happened with all the time I had with Edward?

I hear him groan behind me, and his hands are on my shoulders.

"Bella, I have to go get something from my car," Edward says. "I'll be right back."

I sit up and nod. Jasper and I watch him sprint off in the direction of the parking lot. I eye the string cheese Jasper has in his hand. He notices and shares.

"Wow."

"Huh?"

"You work fast, Swan."

I roll my eyes at him and swallow the last of the string cheese.

"When did you guys start hooking up?" he asks.

"We're not... We've kissed."

Jasper raises an eyebrow and throws a bag of carrots at me.

"Mom's making our lunches," he explains.

"Fun."

"Well, that's pretty crazy," Jasper says. "Have you gone out on a date? You haven't mentioned anything."

I nod. "Yesterday. Instead of going to Port Angeles."

"Yeah, sorry about that."

"It worked out for the best." I smile at my friend. "How's your mom holding up?"

"She's doing better."

Denial.

"Cool. You?"

"Jane told you everything?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"If that motherfucker thinks I'm still his son or will be around to watch his kid grow up, he's..."

"Jasper, you're still his son."

He shakes his head. "I want nothing to do with them."

"I wouldn't either," I admit.

"Charlie would never do that to you guys."

"No..."

"I'd never do that to my family," Jasper says.

I move closer to him and wrap my arms around his arm. "I know."

He sighs and plays with a strand of my hair. "So, do your parents know about Cullen?"

"My dad met him."

"Charlie met Cullen? How'd that happen?"

"Long story… Actually, it was very strange. He looked like he knew Edward from somewhere, and then just… it was weird."

"What'd he say?" Jasper asks.

"I don't even know. Nothing. And Edward thought it was weird too."

"Huh." He scratches his head and then laughs. "Maybe he's seen Edward in his dreams too, Swan." His laughter becomes hysterical. "Maybe he's gonna steal Cullen away from you."

I smack Jasper in his chest and laugh along with him.

"Look at him run."

I turn to see Edward approaching us. Our eyes meet and he slows down, running a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, he's trying to play it cool, like he wasn't running back to you," Jasper jokes.

"Whatever."

It's almost time for class. I get up and gather my stuff. Edward and I walk together, and it's very quiet. We stop at my locker and he leans against the one next to mine.

"Are you going to continue to touch other guys like that?"

"Are you going to be an asshole about it if I do?"

"I won't be around to be an asshole if you do."

I slam my locker shut and start to walk away.

"Bella…"

His voice. I can't let him do this – say the two syllables that form my name and make me change my mind about everything.

"Jasper's like my brother," I say.

Calm down, Edward. You always look so angry.

"Are you going to touch other guys like that, then?" he asks.

"I don't want to."

Don't make me touch other guys, ever.

He touches my chin with his finger. We make it to class just before the bell rings. His hand is on my waist, down my hip. He kisses my cheek and we walk in and take our seats. We want to study together, but I run into a very happy Jane in the hallway after class, and she wants to hang out after school. I tell her Edward will drop me off. I don't know if he's disappointed as we pull up behind Jasper's car in the driveway. I kiss him and kiss him, and he asks me if I like chocolate or vanilla frosting. I tell him vanilla, and kiss him for asking. When I walk through his front door with Jane a few days later, he smells like our kitchen after my mom has baked for Jane and Jasper. He hands me a beer and I tell him I lied about liking beer. He looks annoyed and asks me why, so I kiss him, and I think there are people inside to help me celebrate my birthday, but I don't care.

**I've written most of the next chapter, so it should be up soon. Tell me if you like this? How does everyone feel about Edward? Bella? Where the fuck was Jane? Let me know your thoughts!**

**Thanks for reading.**


	11. You're eighteen now

**A lot of people said they never received an alert for the last chapter, and given the number of hits this chapter received compared to previous ones, this makes sense. So if you didn't get an email about Chapter 10, go back and read it. I posted it last Thursday. **

**I want to thank WriteOnTime for being wonderful. I also want to thank ciaobella27 for reading anything I send her and for being nice about it.**

**This chapter is Ali's.**

**I don't own Twilight.**

It turns out Edward didn't bake anything. He tried, but soon learned that he can't crack eggs without making a mess. Rosalie told us that he kept breaking them in his hands and she had to step in before a trip to the grocery store became necessary. He must have stayed and watched, though, because he smells like he was there in the kitchen. It's so nice.

Jasper decided to order a pizza, and Emmett said he wanted meat on his, and Rosalie said she likes chicken on hers, which I think is disgusting, but no one asked me for my opinion, so I stayed quiet. I don't need pizza right now. There's cake, and Edward's mom made pasta salad for dinner a few nights ago, and it's delicious. Still, I shared a slice with Jane, who wanted half a plain slice, and Edward kept offering me bites of his pepperoni slice which I thought was good, but he said was mediocre at best. Emmett was annoyed, because his cousin owns the place they ordered the pizza from. It didn't last for too long, because Emmett isn't one to hold grudges or act like an asshole. If we had ordered from a restaurant owned by one of Jasper's relatives, the evening would have taken a very sour turn.

"Bella, I think you need a drink," Emmett declares. "You're the only sober one here."

I shrug. "I don't like beer."

"It makes her feel bloated. Her stomach gets big," Jasper says, laughing hysterically.

I cover my right cheek with my hand. Edward is sitting to my right. He doesn't have to see me blush and know it's true.

"Beer gives everyone a gut," Rosalie tells Jasper. "I'd like to see you in a couple of years if you continue to drink like this."

I notice that she's been drinking lite beer all night, even though there isn't any lite beer in sight. I smile at her, and she mouths, "Want one?" Laughing, I shake my head. This is so not about the calories.

Jane, who is sitting to my left, places her bottle on the table and turns to me. "How many calories were in that thing? I had three, Bella."

The panic in her voice breaks my heart. "It's nothing, I promise," I lie. "Just don't have any more. You'll get drunk. Since when do you drink so much?"

"It's your birthday, and I like beer," Jane informs me.

"It's my birthday in just under an hour, and your mom wants us home soon," I point out.

If her mom finds out that she's been drinking, it will be very, very bad. I watch her short nails scratch her thigh. I love her skirt, and wish I could have worn it tonight. Instead, I'm wearing jeans. If I were wearing her skirt, Edward's hands would be touching my skin. My hand shoots out to touch Jane's thigh. It looks very smooth. Edward moves a little beside me and I snuggle against him.

"Did you wax?" I ask. There's no way she waxed.

"No, I just shaved," she replies.

"It looks like you waxed. Like, your skin looks so smooth."

She shakes her head and shrugs. "You know I hate wax. You're the only person I know who does that to herself."

"Bella, you wax your legs?" Rosalie asks. Jasper and Emmett turn and look at us. Apparently this conversation is more interesting than the game they are playing on Edward's Xbox.

"Yeah…"

My face is hot again. I get bloated and gross when I drink beer, and I'm hairy enough to have to wax instead of shave, because it's smooth that way, and lasts longer.

"Me too," Rosalie tells me. "Well, sometimes, since I'm usually too lazy to put in the effort. Mostly before vacations. Easier, you know?"

"Yeah, it makes sense before a vacation," Jane agrees.

Jasper and Emmett are no longer listening. I know we have to leave soon, but apart from the time Edward and I spent in the kitchen earlier in the evening, we haven't had a chance to be alone. I want to be alone with him. He is warm, and soft. He likes to touch me. His voice is low, and deep, and talks to me. Even when they're not directed at me, his words make me dizzy. It's like I confuse him, my body confuses him; he asks questions, but they're not for me to answer. I ask those same questions, but I keep them to myself. I turn a little and find him staring at me. His eyes are playful, but intense, and he's biting his knuckles. I blush wildly, and this makes him laugh. He shakes his head, and throwing an arm around my neck, pulls me closer.

He's so different from everyone else.

For instance, the boys I've dated and done things with focused on feeling good and coming and touching my breasts and everywhere else. Sometimes, they'd even drag my hand over to touch them, and I liked that feeling, so I'd touch, but I would also be annoyed. 'I'll touch you when I want to touch you,' I would think. But Edward is different, and it scares me, but I like it. He will be holding me, like he was earlier in the kitchen, and his mouth will find my shoulder, and he will just keep it there, on the same spot, wet and warm against my skin. He'll just breathe and say nothing, stay like that until it's just his cheek on my shoulder, and I'll touch his hair or his face, kiss his forehead, and he'll sigh. And he kisses me. Long kisses, real kisses, kisses that make me wonder if I'm still standing up, because I'm weightless and light and free, and it's so good, being with him like that. And those kisses also bring me down to the ground – not in a bad way, but in the best way. I feel anchored to him, and I think that if we continue the kiss for just a few more seconds, we won't be two separate entities, anchored to each other, but we'll fuse, and be one thing, and he feels it too. I know he does. And it scares him so much, I can tell the second we stop and break away from each other. The fear on his face, in his eyes… Sometimes he'll let go of my hands, of my body, and his hands act like they just touched something too hot, or too cold. But he's a boy, and he'll touch me again. And again. And again.

But he won't touch me like the other boys. He won't reach back and try to unhook my bra. He won't run his hand up my leg and see if I'd object to having his hand between them. None of that. And this doesn't make sense, because when we are pressed up against each other he so wants me, because I feel him against me, and I know that I want to do dirty, filthy things to him.

"Bella," I hear a voice say.

My legs are being carried over onto Edward's lap. I move around until I'm comfortable, and rest my head on his shoulder.

"Bella," the voice repeats, and I immediately recognize it as Jasper's, now that I'm "back" and paying attention to my surroundings again. "We have to go soon."

"I know."

"Hey Rosalie, you said you'd show us the hot tub and game room, wanna do that now before we leave?" Emmett asks. He stands up, and I watch Rosalie watching Emmett until Jasper stands up too, blocking her view.

"Sure, follow me. Jane, don't leave me alone with these two," Rosalie says, and Edward and I are left on the couch.

"Don't go."

"I have to go," I tell him.

"Your parents won't find out. Stay. They can tell their mom you decided to go back home and not sleep over."

"I can't…"

Something changes under me. His body is still. His face is blank. His eyes move around the room and stay fixed on a painting I don't like. I swing my legs off of him and sit up straight.

"You can't always get what you want."

"Excuse me?" he asks.

"You. You can't always get what you want. Not everything you ask for will be handed to you. I can't stay; I wish I could, but I can't. You don't have to act like a jerk – it won't change a thing," I tell him.

"You're wrong if you think my mood is affected in any way by your decision to stay or leave. Stay if you'd like, or go." Edward runs a hand through his hair and stretches, closing his eyes. He yawns, and his hand comes up to his mouth to cover it before he continues. "Ultimately, it doesn't matter whether you decide to stay or go, but they're going to be back in a few minutes, so if you want to enjoy the time we have left alone, we should start now."

"Enjoy the time we have?" I laugh. "I think that time is over. Thanks for a fun evening."

I force myself to look at him, and the panic is there in his eyes, but he doesn't speak. I stand up and dust some crumbs off my jeans. My hand is shaking as I look around for my phone. He sees it before I do, and hands it to me. I offer him a clipped 'thank you' and walk towards the front door. I can wait for everyone outside. And I can drive to Jane's and get into her bed and think. And cry. If I'm lucky, I'll just fall asleep.

I quietly close the front door behind me and stand in the chilly night, wrapping my arms around myself to stay warm. I take calm breaths, deeps ones, and try not to think just yet. But his words are in my head, and I don't like them at all. I hear the door open behind me and I turn around, hoping they're ready to go, and that no one, especially Rosalie, asks me why I am out here alone.

But it's just him. His eyes are wild and his hair is everywhere. If he'd been good, I would have had something to do with the current state of his hair.

"I'm sorry." I can barely hear the words.

"Don't do that girl thing, where you ignore me and pretend not to care, and then go off and talk about me behind my back" he continues. "I apologized, so either accept my apology or tell me to fuck off."

"You're sorry, great." I turn my back to him and dig into my arms with my nails. I need to stay calm and collected until I'm in the car with Jane.

"You're doing it. Ignoring me."

"That shouldn't affect your mood in any way."

"You know I want you to stay," he tells me.

"Yeah, but now I really don't want to stay," I respond.

"What do I have to do? I'll give you your present – I wanted to wait until your actual birthday. I was hoping you'd stay until after midnight."

"I don't want my present," I tell him.

"You're really going to stop talking to me now?" he asks.

"I'm talking to you."

"You know what I mean," he says.

"Do I? You want me to stay, but you don't care if I leave. You think I'd actually touch you after you said those things to me, and then you try to make me feel bad about how I treat you? You confuse me, and not in a way that keeps me interested, or excited, or whatever. You're not really worth it, you –"

And he's right next to me, and his hands are flat on my stomach, and then down my sides until they're on my hips.

"I'm worth it. I promise you, I'm worth it," he says.

"Why?" I ask him.

"I don't know… I can't answer that, but I know… I'll make myself be worth it, I'll do things so that it's not even a question."

I shake my head. "You don't know what you're saying. I don't even know –"

"Does it matter? I apologized. If you just forget I said that, I –"

"And then what? You'll say something like that again soon enough, and I'll forgive you again, and… no," I tell him.

"Or I never say something like that again, and just because I did this one time, we'll both… nothing else will happen, and you said yourself, this is good, I just…"

"It's not good when you act like a jerk."

"But when I don't?" he asks.

I lied about the beer this week. I won't lie again. "When you don't, it's the best," I tell him.

His arms are around me and I try to escape, but I don't try too hard. He grabs me again and his arms are so tight around me.

"I don't want you to go," he tells me again. "We can sit out here, or inside, and I can kiss you until you're eighteen. We can go to my room, or not, if you don't want to, but I don't want you to sleep far from me. God, you are so soft. I've tried to fight it. I tried. I don't want to…"

His mouth is on my face, his face is in my hair. I kiss and kiss and kiss his chest. I don't know why. I'm so mad at him. I'm mad, and yet I want to stay. I want to teach him a lesson, show him he can't do this, but there are others things I want more.

"Why?" I ask.

"Hmmm?" His hands move up and down my back, he hugs me close, closer, so close.

"Why fight it?"

Does he want to be single? Free to do whatever, whoever? Is this something he wants to stay away from?

"I don't know. I know I should, but not why I should. And I can't stay away. I had too many beers, I'm saying stupid shit, ignore me. I want you here. I –"

"I can't stay. I have to go with them. I want to be here too. I'd go to your room and let you kiss me until I'm… until you're sick of me," I tell him.

He laughs, and laughs, and it feels nice against me. He kisses my neck and says I taste a little salty, and he licks me, and I squeeze him. He's skinny, but tall and hard and so pretty.

"I should give you your present now," Edward says.

"Yes. I like presents." I wonder what he got me. I know him, but I don't know him. He knows me, but he really doesn't know me. Maybe he bought me a mug. Or a keychain. Or a shirt. Or a CD.

"It's kinda lame."

"Then why'd you get it?" I ask, pinching his side. He jumps and grabs my hand.

"Wait here, I'll be right back." He runs into the house and I sit on the steps, waiting for him to return. I hope he's back before everyone else. I don't want to accept his present in front of them. I want to tease him if it's silly, or kiss him long and hard if I love it.

I check my phone and see that it's past midnight. Happy birthday, Bella. You're eighteen now. In fact, you've been eighteen for eleven minutes. The first decision you made as an adult was to forgive Edward. Was it the right decision? That depends on the criteria you use to determine what the right decision was. If you use "Does it make you happy?" as one of the criteria, then you made the right decision.

Edward comes back with a gift bag in his hand. He so bought the bag from the Thriftway. It's purple and shiny and pretty ugly, but I know it's the simplest gift bag you can buy there. The rest are colorful or have balloons on them.

He starts to hand me the bag, but changes his mind. Instead, he reaches in and takes out a blue baseball cap. A blue baseball cap with "NY" in white letters on the front. He takes the hat and places it on my head, pulling it down and laughing when I make a face.

"Happy birthday."

"Thank you," I manage to say. My hands are shaking, and I'm so glad he decided not to hand me the bag. I don't know what I would have done. I would have dropped both the hat and the bag the second I discovered what my present was.

"Are you okay?" Edward asks me. I nod and try to give him a convincing smile.

"You look upset. I didn't know what to get you… I know it's lame, but it's only part of… I bought us tickets to a game next weekend. The Mariners are playing the Yankees, and I thought… I guess that's lame too, if you're not into baseball. It's more of a gift for me. Forget it, I'm sorry."

My hands reach up to touch his face. I love the scruffiness that's so him under my fingertips. Which him, I'm not sure right now. But sometimes there's just a single "him." Those are the best times.

"I love it. It's perfect. Did you find it here, in Forks?" I ask.

"It's actually one of mine. I have a few… Really? You're not disappointed?"

"I get to go to Seattle with you to spend hours at a baseball game and wear your hat." I take it off my head and bring it close to my face. It smells like him. It smells like boy and summers spent watching games outside, in the heat. I fling my arms around his neck and stand on my toes again to kiss him. We stand here for a while, and it's quiet and dark outside his house. His hands go under my shirt, moving along my back. They touch the material of my bra and his fingers drag it down a bit and then let go. His hands cover most of my back and I want to see them on me, and I want to feel them everywhere. I sigh.

"I wish…" he starts.

"I know," I whisper, cutting him off.

"They're back," he tells me. I hear voices and footsteps and hide my face in his chest, hoping they won't see me and find me.

"Yeah, here, I'll just hold you like this, and you wear your hat. They'll never find you, and you'll stay here with me," Edward says.

I laugh and turn to see Rosalie and Emmett walking out the door, clearly in the middle of a heated debate. Jasper and Jane are behind them, both smiling at me until they see my hat. The hat Edward just gave me, because he wants to take me to a baseball game in far-away Seattle, where we will probably go by car, and it will take a long, long time, and I'll be sitting next to him the entire way.

"Cool hat, Bella. Did Cullen give it to you?" Jasper asks.

I nod. "He's taking me to a game. I guess he won't go with me if I don't support his team."

"I won't," Edward confirms.

"You should be ashamed of yourself, born and raised in Washington State, but so ready to commit an act of treason by wearing a Yankees hat – or any opponent's hat – to a Mariners game."

I turn and stick my tongue out at Emmett, who is laughing, probably thinking he sounded very clever in front of Rosalie, who is just rolling her eyes. I catch Jane looking at me, her mouth slightly open.

"Okay, we should go," I say. My hands are shaking again, because Jane and Jasper's presence reminds me of why this gift came as such a shock in the first place. He just gave me a hat. Hat Guy placed his hat on my head. It may not be the same exact hat, but it's identical to the one I've seen so many times, the one I've described to Jane and made her draw, the one Jasper has seen in these drawings.

Turning to Edward, I thank him again. "I had so much fun, and everything was awesome. You didn't have to –"

"Happy birthday, Bella," he tells me. I kiss his cheek and walk to my car with Jane. Jasper changes his mind about riding with Emmett and joins us instead.

My hands fumble as I try to unlock the door, and Jasper takes my keys from my hands. He's had a lot to drink, and I don't want him to drive, so once the door is open, I take back my keys and sit behind the wheel.

"You're in no condition to drive," Jasper tells me.

"And you are? I don't think either of you would pass a sobriety test."

"Bella," Jane says, "you've had a shock, I can tell, Jasper can –"

"No, I'm fine. I didn't have a shock – it was just surreal. It's nothing," I insist.

We wave goodbye to Rosalie and Edward, who are standing on the steps outside their door, and eight minutes later we are walking up to the Whitlocks' house in silence.

Mrs. Whitlock must be asleep, because she doesn't come running down the stairs to make sure everyone looks sober, clean, and happy. I make my way up to Jane's room while she goes to the kitchen for a glass of water. I change into shorts and one of Jasper's old t-shirts he let me borrow, and head to the bathroom to get ready for bed. By the time I'm back, Jane is sitting on her floor, my hat in her hands.

"Wow," she says, smiling at me.

"I know."

"Is he nice?"

I nod, because he is, and because I don't want to upset her right now, or have a discussion about what Edward said to me tonight.

"Jasper thinks he's nice, too. So does Emmett," Jane says.

"And you?"

She shrugs. "I don't know him, but you seem happy, and yeah… yeah, I guess he's a nice guy."

"I feel like I don't really know him either," I admit. "But it's just happening, and I don't want to stop whatever's happening. I really like him…"

"Then don't stop," Jane tells me. "He's pretty cute."

I smile at this, and she blushes. "You think he's cute?" I ask.

"Not my type, but I can see the appeal," she responds. "I prefer dark eyes."

"Dark?"

"Yeah, like brown," she says. "Before we go to sleep, let me give you your present. I wanted to be first, but Rosalie told us Edward was waiting for it to be your actual birthday before he gave you his present, and Emmett decided to hang out in their basement until after midnight to help him out. I think he likes her, but I can't tell. He usually likes really small girls."

Yeah, he does, but I can see why he'd be into Rosalie. She's beautiful, and if she loses just a few pounds, or thirty, she'll be perfect. Jane walks over to her closet and comes back to hand me with what looks like a very large piece of paper. I unroll it and hold it up in front of me. Jane giggles when she hears my gasp. She wishes me a happy birthday and then sits behind me, her chin on my shoulder, looking at her drawing with me. I recognize it – two little girls lying on their stomachs under a tree. One dark-haired, the other very blonde. Each has an apple in her hand, the dark-haired girl's apple has already been bitten into. I love the drawing even more than I love the photograph Jane and I both have copies of. My father took the picture one summer when we were playing outside, and it's one of his favorites from my childhood. I can't believe Jane turned it into this. It's so beautiful, so real. She has managed to copy the photograph with such precision, but also add life to it. Because she was there that day, and she felt the warm air against her skin, and smelled the spring, and felt the grass and dirt under her elbows. I turn my face and plant a kiss on her cheek. She kisses me back.

"I – could you roll this back properly? I don't want to ruin it," I tell her. She takes it from my hands and eventually sets it down, leaning it against her desk.

"I love it. Thank you. You know I love that picture, and you're amazing, you have so much –"

"Really? I'm so relieved. I had no idea what to get you this year," Jane says. "I thought and thought, and bought you a stupid charm for your piercing, which I have here somewhere, actually. Then I saw the picture when I was over Tuesday night, and yeah… I've been working on this since then. I'm sorry I've been MIA during lunch these past couple of days; I just wanted to finish it in time."

"I…" I'm sort of speechless. Instead of saying anything, I attack her and refuse to let go when she asks me to. Jane's not a hugger like me, but then she surprises me with a kiss on my cheek. I've missed her a lot. While she was talking, I realized that after I asked Jasper where Jane was on Thursday, I never really thought about it again. I've been so focused on Edward. Or, to be completely honest, I've been focused on nothing. If you were to ask me what I did during lunch those two days, I'd have no idea how to answer. I sat. I ate. I touched. I smiled.

"Are you tired?" I ask Jane.

She nods, and tells me it's been a long day. While I agree that it feels like I've been up for weeks, I'm not the least bit tired. Still, I lie in her bed and pull the covers up to my chin.

"Why were you and Edward standing outside?"

I might as well just tell her. "He was being difficult, so I decided to wait for you guys outside," I explain.

She lifts her eyebrows and looks at me. "Difficult?"

"He really wanted me to spend the night."

Jane finally climbs into her bed and joins me under the covers. Her mom is probably on a cleaning frenzy – everything smells so nice. "I didn't realize you guys were..." she starts.

"If you're talking about sex, we're _not_. We've kissed, that's it."

"Didn't you want to spend the night?" she asks me.

Did I want to spend the night? I really wanted to stay with him, but I knew I couldn't. I was supposed to be here, and I couldn't risk getting caught. Also, it would have been awkward telling Jane and Jasper to catch a ride home with Emmett. Such silly considerations. No one would have caught me, and a joke from Emmett or some teasing from Jasper would have resulted in a blush or two – so worth being with Edward all night.

"Yeah," I reply.

Jane doesn't say anything. She rolls onto her back and turns off the light. I'm pretty sure she's already asleep a few minutes later when my phone vibrates on her desk. I quietly make my way over and read the text I have received.

_I'll make myself worth it. _

The flutter in my belly is so intense that I clutch my stomach and sit down on the floor, my back against Jane's desk. Suddenly I feel incredibly alone. I read the text and then read it again, wondering what it would be like to be with him all night. I've never spent an entire night with a boy. If this thing with Edward doesn't last, and I don't get another chance to sleep next to him, or stay up with him until everyone else is awake, I will always remember how I made the wrong decision on September 13, 2009.

I dig my fingers into my skin until I feel pain, and it snaps me out of this mood I'm in. Picking up my phone, I quickly type a message and send it before I can overanalyze and change my mind.

_Say something pretty._

He responds almost instantly.

_Bella._

I groan when my body reacts to his message. I'm embarrassed at myself, because it shouldn't feel this good. Silly. Silly. He was saying mean things just over an hour ago, and now he says cheesy things and you want to run away to him.

_Try again._

You can be cheesy, it's okay. I'll probably love it more if you are. I have to wait a little longer for him to text back this time, and it doesn't disappoint. I'm on my back on the floor, rolling from side to side, trying not to make stupid sounds that will wake up Jane.

_I miss your skin._

"Bella?"

I jump up when I hear her voice coming from the bed.

"What are you doing over there?" she asks.

"My phone… I got a text."

"Just take Jasper's bike and go back," Jane tells me. "Your engine will wake up the entire neighborhood."

"Yeah."

"Happy birthday, Bella."

I'm not sure which one of Jane's gifts tonight has made me happier.

XxXxX

I don't know whether I should call him or try to surprise him. I roll Jasper's stupid bicycle along with me and set it against the side of the house. It took over twenty-five minutes to get here, and my legs hate me. They also hate Edward. And Jane, for telling me to ride all the way here in the middle of the night. Thank God for all the exercise Jane makes me do with her. There's no way I would have survived this if we didn't spend hours a week on the elliptical, or doing crazy things for our legs that her mom taught us when we were ten.

Even if I wanted to, I'm not sure how I would surprise him – I can't climb in through a window. Do they have a security system? They must. And who knows which window is his. I know his parents aren't home, but with my luck, I'll end up in Rosalie's room, falling on top of her.

It's not the time for heroics or romantic gestures. My coming here is crazy enough. I should probably just go back. He's not my boyfriend. I don't know what he is. Or maybe he is my boyfriend – he tells me he doesn't want me touching other boys. Of course he's my boyfriend. But even if he is my boyfriend, what am I doing in the middle of the night outside his house? It's so cold. I'm still in shorts. It's freezing. Whatever rush of adrenaline that kept me alive on my way over is gone. Thank God I decided to borrow Jane's sweatshirt before I left. At least I'll be able to keep my arms.

Shit. I hear a noise and whatever it is, it's close. I take out my phone and start dialing my father's number. I'd rather be alive and in big trouble than dead at the hands of _oh my God, _is he smoking a cigarette?

"Shit! Bella? You –"

"You're smoking."

"I'm – yeah, I'm smoking. I – what are you doing here? How –"

"I got your text, and I just –"

"Did you ride over here on that bike? Why didn't you call? I could've –"

"No, we'd get caught, I wanted to, I don't know, surprise you? I don't know. I'm sorry, I thought you –"

He throws his cigarette to the ground and puts it out with his shoe. He's careful, making sure it's completely out before he's next to me. And his hands are on my face, and his lips are on my mouth.

"You look different," he tells me.

"No makeup?"

"Maybe. You had some on earlier, I noticed."

I nod. "You smell."

"Do you hate cigarettes?" he asks. I don't know why we're having this conversation, because I find his neck and it deserves all my attention, and care, and he smells… but he smells good.

"I hate what they do to people, but I love how they smell on you," I confess.

And my back is up against the house, and my legs are around his waist, and his hands are on my legs. And he's such a boy. He's beer, and cigarettes, and is that moisturizer I smell? Not really a boy smell, but he's so, so good. And he's breathing on me again, but this time it's more like pants, and his mouth is on my chest. And his tongue is on my throat.

"You're cold," he says. No, no, no – I'm warm. Shut up.

"I wasn't thinking earlier," he continues, "I had a bottle of wine I stole when my mom bought an entire case. Really good stuff. Not beer. Do you like wine?"

"Sure?" I manage to get out before my mouth finds something new to play with on Edward. I've never had red wine, but I'll drink a bottle if he asks me to.

He drags me inside, and up too many stairs, and then rummages through too many closets, considering he's a boy and shouldn't need so many. I realize I'm on a bed, and I kick off my shoes, because you never keep your shoes on when you're on a bed. He comes back to me with a bottle, and a strange-looking bottle opener, and he struggles, and I distract him, and he struggles a lot, because my hand brushes against something I really want to see, but then he opens it and pop! The sound the cork-thing makes when he finally manages to pull it out scares me. And I'm drinking, and it's kind of nasty, but I get used to it, and it's so rich. So much flavor. Strange, because it's at room temperature and not cold, but maybe this is how you drink red wine. And then it's gone, and he's drinking. And I'm on his lap, and Jane's sweatshirt is on the floor. I'm in Jasper's white v-neck, and Edward whispers _shit _as I drink from the bottle again. I look down, and he's staring at my chest, so I bring my fingers to his hair, and grab it, and pull his face against me. My eyes grow heavy and my head… what am I drinking? It's not even that good. But I like the bottle in my hands, and I like sharing, and I like watching him drink. I put it back into my mouth and throw my head back. It hits my teeth and ow, but I drink anyway, and then the bottle is gone, and Edward's hands are on my skin, under the stupid t-shirt, but there's nothing for his fingers to pull down or open.

He moves them up my back, then down my back. Up my sides, and his fingers almost touch my breasts. I move on his lap and we're closer than we were, and his hands move up my stomach and cover my breasts, but they're gone so fast. And so is my shirt. And he's on his back, and I move with him, cover him, and his hands are back on my skin, and our mouths meet, and we roll and roll and his shirt is gone, and my tongue feels the hair covering his chest. It's not gross. It's him. And it's just like it's supposed to feel.

When he kisses me again, it's slow. His chest-hair tickles a little against my nipples, and I giggle. His hands grab my ass and pull me so close that sounds come out of my mouth that I really don't expect. I'm on my back now, and look at your legs, Bella – why are they open like that? And why are your hands on his buttons, and where did your shorts go? Think. You're not completely naked, but you're close enough. Say something sweet and make him lie down beside you. No, no, no. Don't pull them down. The boy needs to keep his pants on. Yes, yes, yes. Kick them off, Edward. It's so dark, and I can barely see a thing. But I taste him, and feel him, and how nice is this weight on top of me? I do everything to keep it there. Keep him on me. He doesn't want to go either, but he wants to move. And moving is good. And he moves and moves until I scream, and then his fingers are touching me, and I want to say stop, I just came, don't touch me there yet, but his fingers are there, and they fumble, and they're long, and I move until I get one deep inside, and his mouth opens against my neck. He touches me, and I try to touch him. Now there are no clothes, it's easier this way. And we're back to moving like before, his finger gone, hands now on either side of my head, and my hips beg, beg, and beg again. And his hips do things that make me want to say his name. But I merely cry out without forming words, and he's off me, doing something over by his nightstand, and I pull him back. And he likes it between my legs. I think he says _shit _again, and this time he moves differently, and _what is that? _Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh. I wince. He sees. He stops.

Don't look scared. Your eyes are prettier when they're wild and crazy and dark because of what our hips are doing and what your fingers find.

He opens his mouth but my hands fly to his face, and they bring him down to me. When we kiss and kiss, he moves again. Slow and nice, but I gasp sometimes, because I'm not used to this feeling. Full and sore but undeniably good, because it's him, and I know this, and I hold him, and he holds me. Faster and faster, and his mouth everywhere and there is no rhythm, just in and out and licks and kisses and Bella, Bella, Bella. I can't breathe, he's so heavy, and he knows, so he's over me, watching me, his hands back on the bed, then him on his knees and _Jesus, _what is he doing to me? Never stop staring like that, but please look away before I blush. Good, good, good, and come back here. And he's heavy again, but so, so wild, and just one more time and he stops. And his face. Oh, his face. I see the man I love for the very first time.

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	12. Not just sex

**You guys make me so happy. **

**Writeontime edited this, shared her thoughts, made it better, and added about 4,523,954 commas. She also deleted two. A first! **

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**I don't own Twilight. **

The weight of his body is replaced with cool air that makes my face flush. I'm naked. Nothing is covering me. Not even him.

Edward lies next to me on his back, equally naked. I watch his movements as he rolls over onto his stomach. I watch him bring his right arm over to the pillow and rest his head on it. I've never stared at anyone's back for so long. I want to slide my finger down his spine. His head is shaking back and forth. In the span of a few seconds, I go from feeling extreme cold, the likes of which I have never experienced, to burning a heat that makes me want to jump out the window just so I can breathe.

I get up to look for Jasper's t-shirt. I realize now that Edward's bed is unmade. I'm torn between holding his sheets against my body to cover myself, and just moving quickly, because the sooner I find the t-shirt, the sooner I'll have less my of body exposed. Strong fingers grab my wrist and stop me. I want to tell him to let go, because it hurts, and not in the way he hurt me just a few minutes ago, because that hurt I would take again. I let out a small laugh that sounds more like a cough. The only reason I'm so ready to accept that kind of hurt is probably because it was a one-time-only hurt no one else will be able to cause again.

"Turn around," he tells me.

My hand is shaking as it pulls a strand of hair behind my ear. "I'm just looking for my t-shirt. It's...late."

My wrist is free, and I run the fingers of my other hand over the now pink skin.

"Fine."

I manage to slide off the bed and onto the floor where a discarded white t-shirt is lying next to his pants. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I pull it on.

"The bike won't fit in the back of my car, you're going to have to leave it here overnight," Edward says. "I can put it in the garage."

"I can ride it back to Jane's."

"Or you can stay. But I guess that's not what you came here for."

I finally turn and see him on his back, still completely naked and thin and pale.

"I came to spend the night with you," I tell him. I take a deep breath and feel my nails scratching along my collarbone and then down my chest. He blinks and stares at my face.

"Listen, I'm sorry. You didn't want that," he says.

_Want that_? To spend the night with you? I really did. Or are you talking about what just happened? I didn't know that was even a possibility, not with how you've been touching me and treating me.

"Was it... were you a virgin?" he asks.

My voice is calm and strong and clear when I respond. "Yes."

He throws his head back on the pillow and whispers _shit _again.

"And you weren't," I say.

"No."

He wasn't. Did I ever think he was? Did I assume he'd never had sex before meeting me because his kisses were sloppy and his hands were sometimes clumsy? Maybe that was all me. He wasn't clumsy a few minutes ago. For a while, he was doing something very right. Something he's done over and over –

"I had a girlfriend. We were together since freshman year. We... yeah, I shouldn't be telling you about her now."

"Since freshman year? But not anymore."

"No. She lives in New York."

"So you guys broke up..."

"Yeah, I moved here," he says.

"You broke up with her because you moved?"

He nods.

"Do... Do you miss her?"

Edward runs his fingers through his hair and closes his eyes for a second.

"Honest answer? Or the one I want to give?" he asks me.

"Honest."

"I'm going to sound like an asshole," Edward tells me. I shrug.

"No."

"No?" I repeat, trying to make sure that I heard him correctly.

"I thought I would, you know – distance makes the heart grow fonder, or whatever? But it's like she never existed."

I don't respond to this because I'm not sure how I feel about it. Do I get to feel one way or another about his feelings towards his ex? On one hand, I think I do, because they tell me something about his character and personality. On the other hand, I don't think I should be judging him.

I lie down on the bed, and he covers my body with the sheet. I remember that I never looked for my shorts, but I guess it doesn't matter now. He covers his lower half with the sheet as well. My head hurts. We're not touching.

"In the interest of full disclosure, I've had sex with her and one other girl. We… we were on a break, and I met someone while I was on vacation with my family."

"Where?" I ask, like it actually matters.

"Whistler."

"Huh." I thought he'd say the Bahamas or Hawaii or some other warm place.

"Yeah..."

He yawns and quickly covers his mouth with his hand. Our eyes meet and he moves just a little closer. We lie on our backs but stare at each other, our cheeks on his pillows. My knees bend in his direction. He moves and his actions mirror mine. I like being in bed with him. I don't like this conversation, and I didn't like how I felt lying here naked right after he lifted himself off me, but I like being with him. And I want to have him touch me again.

"I uhh... used a condom with that random girl, the Whistler one. And I always used one with Chelsea... my ex. You don't have to –"

He stops and clears his throat.

"You don't have to worry about any, you know, STDs. I was looking for a condom, but you stopped me. I'm –"

"It's fine," I tell him.

"Bella, I came –"

"Don't worry. It's fine," I repeat.

"Okay." He asks no further questions, so I provide no further explanations. If it hadn't been fine, I would have pushed him off the second I realized what was going on. His eyes are on the ceiling, and he picks up a small ball that has been sitting on his nightstand and starts throwing it in the air.

It's my turn to yawn. It's so late.

"Are you okay?" Edward asks, catching the ball for the seventh time.

"Yes."

"Are you pissed at me?"

"No."

"You didn't tell me to stop. I – I would've stopped."

He throws the ball across the room and turns to face me. "I didn't give you the wine to –"

"Do it again," I interrupt.

"What?" he asks, looking young and confused and tired.

"I know you didn't try to get me drunk. I know you would've stopped. I believe that you don't have anything I can catch. I want to prove it because you won't shut up. Do it again," I tell him.

"Bella, are you sure you're okay? I know it's just sex and doesn't matter, but I know girls can be sensitive and emotional –"

You read in books that the pain is like a knife stabbing you in the chest. I hope I'll never find out what a knife in the chest – or anywhere – feels like. I don't want to know. But the pain I feel in my chest right now… nothing can be worse than this. It's just sex. It doesn't matter. What did he see when he looked at my face? What did he feel and think when he moved like that? Am I more Chelsea to him, or Whistler girl?

"It doesn't matter," I say, repeating his own words in an attempt to silence him.

"Of course it does. I'm not gonna fuck you if you're… I don't know. Are you drunk? Shit."

Am I? I don't know. I'm _something. _

His hands go crazy in his hair, pulling, tugging. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

"Maybe you should sleep," he tells me.

"Fuck you."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't treat me like a child. So I was a virgin. Big deal. What? I'm some fragile thing you can't handle now? You knew it when you stopped, but you kept going anyway, and you weren't being gentle or sensitive then. You were on your knees… like, pounding into me. And – and, yeah, I wanted you to continue and I liked it, but… don't pretend you were a gentleman, and want me to sleep, and not do that again. You're not a gentleman. You want to fuck me. All your stupid slow kisses and breathing and – don't pretend."

"What are you talking about?" he asks, his voice shaking. That vein on his forehead is back and scarier than ever.

"You and… this isn't real. I've been living in a dream. Is this what you wanted? God, you're stupid. I would have done that the minute you met me, you didn't have to breathe on my neck and touch my hands and talk to me all night. You threw me a birthday –"

I start laughing until I'm brushing away the tears with the back of my hand, until my stomach hurts because I'm laughing so hard.

"So you think I planned this," Edward says.

"Not _this_. No."

"You never fucking think," he shouts. "Sometimes I wonder if that thing in your head works. Do you know how good you feel? I forget everything when I kiss you. I don't know what I'm doing half the time. I follow you around like… Fuck, you're so blind. I was with Chelsea for three years, and didn't… I've thought about fucking you every second I'm away from you, but when I'm with you… I get lost. I didn't want this."

"You didn't…" I start. My body moves away from his.

"Stop."

I rub my hands over my face, not knowing what to do right now. I can't stay here. I don't know what to believe. That he loses himself around me? Or that he didn't want to have sex with me?

"What am I supposed to do with you?" he asks. I turn to him, hearing the softness and sadness in his voice.

"What – what do you mean?"

He shakes his head and moves over me, trapping me under him.

"I don't know," he says, placing his forehead against mine. "I don't know."

His eyes close, and his breathing is so heavy and irregular and crazy.

"I ask myself that a lot too," I confess to him. His eyes open, and they're so green, and they love me, but he doesn't know. And if he does, he'll never put it into words. Not tonight. Not anytime soon. He knows this is something. That he knows. I can see. I'm crazy. I'm certifiable. I'm completely nuts. I scare myself.

"But," I continue, "I don't want to know the answer right now. I just like you. So much. I –"

And his mouth tells me more than he could ever say with words. He isn't fumbling or clumsy or sloppy now. He's taking and taking and giving and giving, and adjectives won't work because this is us. And we, we don't need them. They're useless. He stops and moves his lips to my neck, and I hold him and hold him so tight.

"I… I love your skin," Edward tells me, "but I just want your mouth."

He has it. Over and over and over again. And God, his body against my body. This is not like the last time. The first time. This is – this is all those things you read about and laugh at because none of it can be real. This is all those things but more and more, because this boy kissing me in his bed is the only thing I want to breathe. These sounds. I could hear them on a loop for a thousand years. And I tug and I pull and I scratch and I lick, and I kiss and kiss and kiss, until we both let go and his laughter is the sweetest sound. I try to tear off the t-shirt but I'm pinned under him. I tell him, "Edward, I want to feel your skin against mine," and he is so serious now. He helps me and throws it away and his hands… his hands grab my breasts and they're so rough. And his mouth. It makes me cry. Good cries. Loud ones. He covers my mouth with one of his hands and laughs and licks and laughs and sucks and laughs and kisses my skin from my throat to my belly.

"Come back," I demand.

His eyes are shining as he complies. I wrap my legs around him and rock and rock and rock.

"You want this again," he says.

"Always," I promise.

Maybe Edward should be asking if it still hurts. Maybe he should be concerned about my feelings, and my body, and other silly things. But when he moves and I gasp he simply smiles, and when he moves again and again he whispers, 'I like you, Bella,' and says 'Oh God' and grunts and moves harder and he's breathless and 'Yes' and more questions. So many questions. 'Why are you so good?' and 'how does it feel like this?' and my name, and 'please,' and my body wants, wants, wants. I move my hands down his body and hold and grab and push him closer to me.

"Not just sex," he breathes, taking me into his arms and flipping us around.

"What am I…?"

He holds my hips and I look down and his fingers shouldn't be anywhere else. Just on me. Only on me.

"Just move," he tells me.

And I move and I touch and I cry out until I'm under him again. And we stay up all night, moving together. I tell him I love his fingers when he makes me scream. 'Lucky fingers' he says, as I kiss each one.

XxXxX

Ugh, my phone.

I crack open an eye and immediately close it again. So bright. Stupid phone. You ring and ring, then stop ringing before I can get my hands on you. I roll over onto my stomach to bury my face into the pillow, and hit something hard.

It doesn't move.

I open both eyes this time and see him. Sleeping, messy hair, naked. My eyes fall on the alarm clock on his stupid nightstand and see that it's already 11:23. On my birthday. I should be with Jane. My parents will freak. We're supposed to be having lunch together in less than forty minutes. Lunch. For my birthday. I jump up and run into his bathroom. I steal some Advil from the medicine cabinet because everything hurts. In record time, I manage to clean up, but there's nothing I can do about the stuff on my neck that my parents probably don't want to see.

Back in Edward's room, I find my shorts and the sweatshirt I was wearing last night. I find my shoes and trip over the laces as I look around to make sure I have everything. Before I forget, I send Jane a text, because she's been calling me all morning. He sleeps through all of this. I consider writing him a note but don't have time to look for a paper or pen. I'll text him. Right as I'm about to walk out the door, I realize that I am not wearing the t-shirt I had on last night. I look for it on the bed, and he grabs me.

"Come back. Why are you dressed?"

He lifts the sweatshirt a few inches and kisses my stomach.

"It's almost noon. I have to go back to Jane's and change before I meet my parents," I tell him.

"Oh." He keeps kissing me until I manage to get away.

"I'll um, see you at school, I guess."

"School?" he asks.

"Yeah…"

I watch him struggle to sit up. His face is all scruff and eyebrows and puffy lips. Right now, he is Hat Guy, and my legs won't move. "Busy after lunch?" he asks me.

I nod. "I have plans with Jane."

"Important plans?" His smile makes my stomach all funny, and I want to jump on his bed and roll around with him and love him and ugh, I don't want to go to lunch.

"Yes, very important plans," I tell him. "She's my best friend."

"Best friend trumps boyfriend?"

Of course.

"Today, yes."

I watch the smile fade from his face. It happens slowly. For an instant, I'm pretty sure the smile isn't going anywhere, but then it's gone.

"I'll call you when I'm done with lunch."

His eyes close and he's lying back on the bed.

"Yeah, whatever."

I don't have time to deal with this, or to touch him before I leave, but I do it anyway. His eyes are still shut tight, just like Jane's when she pretends she's asleep. But Edward isn't pretending anything; he's just being rude. Still, I lean over him and run my thumb over his left eyebrow, then run my fingers over his cheeks. The corner of his mouth turns up and I see a flash of green before everything turns upside down. Somehow I'm on the bed, my head hanging off the side, and he's on top of me.

"Borrow something from Rose. I'll drive you to lunch and I'll drop the bike off later."

"My parents..."

"I picked you up this morning from Jane's because it's your birthday, to give you your present," he says, his hands up and down my body and his mouth on my ear, and neck, and throat.

"Stop wanting to have sex with me," I hum.

"Not just sex," he whispers, like he did last night. But his hands pry open my thighs and he chuckles when I resist.

"You're breathing like you want it," he tells me. "Say it."

Not fair. You're naked and on top of me, and the blood is rushing to my head, and last night your mouth did things no one has done before, and I want to lie open for you and have your scruff against my thigh and feel it there and keep it there. And you know this. It makes you laugh and tease and try until I give in.

"Bella," he sings, "say it or let me hang out with you and Jane this afternoon."

What? Why would he want that? Do I want that? I close my eyes and imagine an afternoon with him and Jane and being outside and laughing and eating and having fun.

"What if I want both?" I ask. "Do it. But hurry. Why is your cousin fat? How is anything gonna fi –"

Oh and he hurries. My shorts are off and he's inside, and I'm hanging off the edge of the bed, and this time he touches me too. Things happen faster this way. Twenty minutes later, I'm sitting across from my parents, ordering a burger and fries.

XxXxX

The second my father leaves the table to smoke outside, my mom leans over it and starts asking questions.

"Bella, he's so handsome! And polite! Ignore your father, he's been grumpy for days. Did Edward give you something nice for your birthday?"

"Um, a hat," I mumble.

"A hat?" Her face falls and she looks at me with so much pity in her eyes that I almost laugh. "Oh, he'll learn. But for now, he's too pretty to throw away."

Silly mom. Dad gives you a daisy and you act like he just handed you diamonds or a brand new car.

She grabs my wrist and frowns. "My little girl. Is he nice to you? Does he treat you well?"

I nod. "He gave me the hat because he's taking me to a baseball game on Saturday."

"Baseball?"

"Yeah... He's from New York. The Yankees are playing? I don't know, but I really want to go," I tell her.

"Are Jane or Jasper going?"

"No."

Her fingers disappear from my wrist as she considers this.

"I'm sure your father will agree to let you go," she tells me.

"Agree? I'm an adult!"

I feel a hand on my shoulder and watch as my mother raises her eyebrows.

"An adult living under my roof," my father's voice reminds me. But he's smiling when he takes his seat across from me just a few seconds later.

"So what am I agreeing to let you do?" he asks.

"Go to Seattle for a baseball game."

"Night game?"

"I don't know..." I admit.

"Who would you be going with?" I see the playful smile on his face and allow myself to relax.

"Edward."

"Edward," he repeats.

"Charlie, he's a nice boy. So polite. Janey and Jasper like him too, don't they, Bella?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, as long as Janey and Jasper approve, sure! Bella can go to the game with Edward."

I roll my eyes to let him know his sarcasm doesn't amuse me.

"What's wrong, Bella? I just agreed to let you go to the game," he says.

"Sure you did…"

He stops smiling and I see him looking at me from the corner of my eye. He keeps his eyes on me until I'm forced to meet his gaze.

"I met the boy and your mother's right – he's very polite."

I bite my bottom lip because a smirk is threatening to show itself on my face. Polite. Yes. His eyes get big and wide and his face is so serious when he introduces himself. Shoulders back, back straight, handshake firm. Definitely not the boy who dares to smoke in his bedroom in the middle of the night when his parents are gone for the weekend, while his girlfriend lies naked on his bed, playing with the fascinating amount of hair on his chest and down, down…

"Bella!"

"I'm sorry, I'm so tired. Jane and I –" Jane and I spent maybe fifteen minutes together last night, and then I ran off and didn't even call her this morning. I run my fingers through my very silky hair. Rosalie's conditioner was awesome… I can't look my parents in the eye right now. I nervously tug at my hair with one hand and play with a packet of sugar with the other, until my mother says my name again. I immediately stop.

"Is that Jane's dress you're wearing? Have you lost weight, sweetie? Charlie, tell her she needs to eat. Five fries and half a burger don't make a nutritious meal."

"I'm eating dessert. I'll eat the entire thing," I promise them.

"Half the burger…" my dad mutters. "Without the top bun, and half the cheese scraped off."

"I ate a lot last night. I had pasta salad, and cake. I had pizza. Mom –"

"Don't get upset, Bella," she says, her voice as soft as the look in my father's eyes. "We just worry. I don't want that woman's influence on you. Is that _her_ dress?"

"Jesus! No! I borrowed it from Edward's cousin last night after I spilled something all over my jeans. This is the smallest thing she had. It's a medium."

The look they exchange tells me to run before either of them has a chance to say anything.

"You were with Edward last night?" my mother asks.

"You were at Edward's last night?" My father is more observant, and a better listener.

"Yes. Dad, I told you before I left that I was hanging out with friends for my birthday. Edward invited us over. His cousin was there. Jasper and Emmett came too. We ordered pizza. Mom, he never listens to me. He –"

"Sorry, sorry. My fault, Renee. Bella's right."

My mother shakes her head and looks upset. "Where have I been all week?" She turns to my father and continues to shake her head. "Where did you meet Edward?" She turns back to me. "Why didn't you tell me about him? You were out with another boy just last weekend. Bella, I'm confused. Were his parents there last night? Did you even spend the night at Jane's?"

"Renee, enough. We're here for Bella's birthday. I met Edward at the house a few days –"

"At the house!" she exclaims. "What was he doing –"

"Renee, calm down." He turns to the waitress who just brought over dessert. "Thank you." He smiles and turns his attention back to my mother.

"Bella and Edward stopped by the house after they were caught in the rain. They had some lunch and did their homework. He's a good kid. I trust him. I trust Bella more."

She smiles. "Charlie, I don't know how you're so calm about this, but if you approve, I'll stop with the questions. I trust you," she says. I don't want to know what's going on under the table, where her hands disappear.

Gross. She's just holding his hand. Or squeezing his thigh. She does that a lot. Gross.

My father clears his throat and wipes some chocolate sauce from the corner of his lips with one of the tacky napkins the waitress brought over. "So Bella, if I call Jane's mother, she'll tell me you were there all night, right?"

"I knew this wasn't over," I mumble. Something's not right. I haven't forgotten the look on his face when he first saw Edward in the kitchen. The eerie calm he exhibited when Edward and I drove up to the restaurant today. The way he claims he's okay with all of this. I don't know why he's pretending. I didn't know he was such a great actor. He's really pulling it off well.

"What's that, Bella?" he asks.

"You have something against him. I saw the way you looked at him. Have you seen him before? Is he, like, a serial killer you're trying to catch? Maybe you shouldn't be letting me spend so much time with him. Don't even bother pretending you don't know what I'm talking about, dad."

"Charlie, is she right? Do you know Edward?"

"How would I know Edward? He's just a kid."

With a smile and a pinch of my cheek, my father sits back and starts talking about Aunt Liz's upcoming visit. That's all it takes for the look of death to disappear from my mom's face. She was so pale just a few seconds ago, but a few words from him and her cheeks are rosy again. He's a liar. And this brownie sucks. I catch her staring at me a few times, but she turns her attention back to him before he notices. Her smile isn't real. Another bite of the brownie and I give up. I take out my dying phone and text Jane that I'll meet her at her house in half an hour. I hope her mom's pills are accessible today. You never know with Mrs. Whitlock, and I need to take something for the ache I feel in my legs and my head and just about everywhere. Never ride a bike to your boyfriend's house and then spend the night having sex with him after drinking half a bottle of wine. Or do it, but have tons of painkillers around. After some deliberation, I text Edward to meet us at what he refers to as 'the meadow' at four-thirty. That gives me plenty of time alone with Jane before he shows up. Hopefully, the clouds won't turn to rain.

XxXxX

"Bella, it looks disgusting. Put the scarf back on," Jane says.

"No. It's itchy." I hand the scarf back to her before we step out the door. She tries to shove it back into my hands, but I shake my head and push it away.

"It's not itchy, just put it on!"

"Oh my God! Stop making such a big deal out of a few hickeys."

"I can't believe you let him do that to you. It's so…wrong," she says. The look on her face makes me want to smack her.

"He did that to me because it feels good. Jesus. My dad totally noticed and didn't care. So please, enough. They'll go away!"

"He didn't care?"

I shake my head. "He looked at me and then just started talking about having beef brisket for dinner tomorrow. I don't think he wants to know details." I laugh, but Jane looks horrified.

I punch her lightly in the arm as we walk to my truck. She smiles at me and I pull her into a one-armed hug. I quickly realize that I have forgotten something.

"My present! I'll be right back," I tell Jane. "Wait for me in the truck."

I run up the stairs and into her room to grab the drawing she gave me last night. On my way back down, I run into Jasper.

"Did you fuck him?"

"I fucked your sister," I yell. It's a joke between us, and while it makes no sense, it always makes him laugh. I don't know when it started. Probably back in middle school.

I jump into my truck and carefully place the drawing between us on the seat.

"You two are such idiots," Jane says. "I heard that."

"He's the idiot. Look, I've lost weight – these jeans used to not fit at all," I tell her, jumping a little in my seat as I fasten my seatbelt.

"You can have them," she tells me. "I hate that dark wash. They're ugly."

Um, no they're not.

"No, they're your jeans – and you bought them after having stared at them for weeks. They're ugly now?"

She shrugs. "I'm over them. Just take them."

"I'll borrow them until they stop fitting again."

"If you continue not eating during lunch, that won't be a problem."

I don't say anything for a few seconds, but when I slow down at a stop sign, I decide I don't want to let Jane's comment go without addressing it.

"How do you know what I'm doing at lunch?"

She shrugs. "Jasper said you and Edward just eat each other's faces."

"Ew. Not true. And if he has a problem with that, he should stop hanging out with us."

"Is that right?" she asks.

"Yes," I reply, in the same annoying tone of voice she just used. She's so bad at trying to make fun of me and the things I say. She's been doing it a lot lately, but isn't getting any better at it.

"So if we don't like what we see at lunch, we must leave you and Edward to yourselves. Is that correct?"

"Free country, Whitlock."

"Good to know."

I turn on the radio and look over at Jane to give her a smile, but she's staring out the window. She completely ignores my questions, playing with her phone and shrugging when I ask if she's okay. I guess she doesn't feel like talking about school or everything going on at home. I don't blame her. School mostly sucks, and talking about her parents is just depressing. I give up when I realize she's being difficult. It's my birthday. I'm here because I want to have a good time with my best friend. My best friend is acting like a child. She didn't even ask about last night. She's just giving me attitude. I'm here, and not with Edward, and she's giving me attitude. I turn up the volume because I know she hates the song playing on the radio. We drive in silence for a long time until she turns and speaks again.

"And yeah, the jeans fit, but they're a little tight. You can totally see fat along the waistline because your t-shirt is so see-through."

Jane takes out her sunglasses and puts them on. She sits back with her arms folded across her chest until I park the car.

"I'll try to get better at the whole anorexic thing," I say before getting out of the truck and slamming the door. "You clearly haven't been doing a proper job of teaching me."

Happy Birthday, Bella.

When does Edward get here?

**Edward gets here soon. So many updates. Are you sick of me yet?**

**Thanks for continuing to read and review. You guys rock.**

**A lot of you asked for Edward's POV from the last chapter. While I don't have that, I have a little bit from this chapter. I can send it out if you'd like. **

**So let me know your thoughts on Edward, Jane, Charlie, hickeys, tight pants, loose dresses, and eating burgers without the buns.**


	13. It'll be okay

**You guys. Always so interesting with your comments and theories. Did you enjoy the little Edward thing I sent out? I've written so much Edward that I don't want to post, so I love sending bits and pieces to those of you who comment. Thank you.**

**WriteOnTime is the best beta ever. And ciaobella27 and spargelkun read this and tell me when something makes absolutely no sense. I love them all.**

**I don't own Twilight. **

My eyes are constantly on my watch, checking the time to make sure I tell Jane that Edward is coming before Edward actually arrives. Unfortunately, I never get around to it, because by the time Jane and I are speaking again, I don't want to interrupt her. She's telling me about Jasper's latest conversation with their dad. He wants Jane and Jasper to have dinner with him and his mistress/girlfriend/fiancée this week. He says he's going to marry her as soon as the divorce is finalized, and refers to her as his fiancée, but can you really be engaged to someone when you're married to someone else? Can you even call her your girlfriend? I suppose you can. Jane won't use either term. She tells me that Jasper told him there was no way they were having dinner with _her_. Mr. Whitlock said that's fine and laughed. He is confident that Jasper will change his mind when he realizes that he needs money or that he wants to meet his baby brother.

Brother. They're going to have a boy. It's sick. I wonder if Mrs. Whitlock knows. I don't ask.

I lose track of time, and in the middle of Jane's rant about her mother's newest obsession with cleaning under their beds, I see Edward walking towards us. I wave him over and Jane looks up, then at me.

"Really, Bella?"

"What?"

"You invited him?"

"Were invitations required? He's my friend, I told him to hang out with us."

"Friend," she repeats.

"Be nice," I warn her.

Edward says hello to Jane and sits down next to me. I hand him a cupcake and he takes my hand. He takes huge bites out of the cupcake, and it's gone within a few seconds. A blushing Edward with frosting on the corner of his mouth is the only evidence that it ever existed.

"You eat like an animal," I tell him. I lean over and lick the frosting, and his hand tightens around mine.

"How was lunch?" he asks me.

"Fine. Awkward. Whatever."

"What have you guys been up to since?"

"Just hanging out. Talking."

"I love this place," he says.

Jane stands up and walks over to the big tree we usually sit under. She lies down on the grass, in the shade.

"Bella and I have been coming here for years," she tells him. "We usually don't bring friends."

"No?" Edward asks with a smile. "Bella brought me here a couple of days ago."

I dig my fingers into his thigh and gently elbow him.

"When?" Jane wants to know.

"Wednesday, I think," he replies.

"The weather sucked and I didn't want to drive all the way to Port Angeles," I explain.

"So you came out here to hang out in the rain."

"The rain was wet," Edward says.

"What?" I move away from him and shake my head. "You're weird."

"Sick," Jane comments.

"Excuse me?"

Oh God. Edward, _stop_. Shut up. Just ignore her.

"Yes?"

Jane sounds like her mom again.

"What'd you just say?" he asks, his voice cold and harsh.

"I said 'sick' – you're disgusting."

"Me? What? What are you –"

"Enough! Jane, be nice. Edward, shut up. It's my birth –"

"We know it's your birthday, Princess Bella. He gave you a used hat. I gave you –"

"_Not _a competition," I shout, cutting her off. "He gave me the hat because he's taking me to a baseball game. You know this."

"I do. You wanna know what else I know?" Jane asks. "I know that I have my art show that day and you forgot. Because Hat Guy here –"

"JANE!"

She takes a few deep breaths and covers her face with her hands. "I'm sorry."

"I'm going home," I announce. I can't believe she referred to him as Hat Guy.

"Bella, no. I'll go," Edward says. "I'll call Rosalie and she'll pick me up. She can't be too far."

He gets up and reaches into his pocket, presumably for his phone.

"No. You don't have to go anywhere."

She can leave.

"Edward, you really don't," Jane says, standing up and grabbing her sweater from where it was lying on the grass. "I'm sorry. I'm really, really… Please take me home. I'm not feeling well."

"Janey, you're feeling fine. Don't even–"

"I want to go home."

So we take her home. I make Edward drive and he's so bad and we almost die, but we finally drop her off and she smiles but it's not real. I hug her but she doesn't hug me back; then she reaches out to hug me but I get confused and move out of her reach. Of course it's at this perfect moment that Edward sits on something and asks us if "this piece of paper" is important. Jane slams the door in my face and is gone.

"Thanks."

"What?" His eyes are big and pretty and he looks like a little boy.

"That was her birthday present to me. Open it."

The drawing isn't damaged and it will look fine once I have my mom frame it for me. Edward stares at it for a few seconds before rolling it up and carefully placing it between us.

"That's pretty cool," he says.

"Yeah."

"I shouldn't have come."

"I should've told you it's a bad idea," I admit.

"She needs to stop acting like a child."

"Things are difficult for her right now."

He nods.

"Let's go to my house," I suggest.

His grin makes me smile, and strange things happen to me. I blush, but my nipples get so hard that I want to touch them just to make sure they're okay. Or maybe he should touch them and make sure they're okay. I'm breathing funny, and moving closer to him, and toss the drawing aside until I'm pressed up against him. He looks so smug and cocky and I want to smack him, but his hands on the wheel and his fingers tapping and his almost-beard… and God, I remember how the almost-beard felt last night against me. So I bite him along his jaw and my hand molests him while he's driving, moving to the buttons of his pants, but opting to just sneak under instead. I don't give him a handjob or anything. I just let my fingers move along his skin, and he smiles the entire time, and finally tells me to 'touch it.'

"No. We're almost here. Turn left. Ugh. Garage door is open. My dad must be working in there."

"Wanna go back to my place?" Edward asks.

"He saw the truck. Too late. Nothing says 'we're looking for somewhere to fool around' like turning back the second we see a parent is home."

"Funny. Fine. Where do I park?"

"Just pull in there," I tell him, pointing to the driveway. "Yeah. You killed a plant. Awesome."

"Whatever. You drive next time."

That sounds so familiar. I shake away that weird feeling I get when things like this happen, and jump out of the car, calling out to my dad.

"Daddy! Edward and I are going to hang out in my room. Is that okay?"

"Hey kids," he greets us with a wave. "Sure, I'll be right here. Mom's coming back with dinner soon."

"Cool, but I'm not really that hungry."

"Gotta eat, Bella. Keep up your strength," he says. Edward chuckles beside me. "Say Edward, do you happen to have a lighter? I can't seem to find one here, as you can see it's pretty messy –"

Edward runs up to my dad and hands him a light blue lighter from his pocket. I groan when I see my father's smile.

"Don't smoke, son. It's bad for you. For the record, I smelled it on you this morning when you dropped Bella off at the diner. If Bella ever comes home smelling like –"

"Daddy! Stop. I don't smoke. I never will. Edward, let's go."

"You never will," my dad mutters under his breath, shaking his head.

Edward catches the lighter thrown back to him and we quickly walk into the house and up the stairs.

"You fell for that?" I ask, rolling my eyes at him.

"He wanted something, I gave it to him. I didn't think. Whatever, he said he smelled it on me this morning."

I don't blame him, he was just trying to please my father, but I'm so irritated by everything that's happened this afternoon that I say something annoying to Edward, which results in him giving me a dismissive look and a muttered 'whatever' under his breath.

I lie down next to him on my bed and stretch my arms behind me. His hands are immediately on my stomach, and up my chest and throat, and I reach out to touch him as well.

"Are you still mad at me?" he asks.

"I was never mad at you."

"Yeah you were – when I told Jane you–"

"Ugh, no. I wasn't… shit. Stop doing that."

He tongue is in my navel and he stops what he's doing when I tell him to, but he continues to stare at my body until I pull my shirt down and push him away.

"What?"

"What are you staring at?"

"Uh, you," he says, slapping the hand that is holding my shirt down. "What's your problem?"

"Is there something wrong? Do I look fat?"

"Are you serious right now?"

I look at him and shrug. I know I'm not fat, but I also know these jeans are tight and it probably looks bad.

"Jane said these jeans are too tight and I have a muffin top."

"Huh?"

I stand up to show him. I even raise my top a little and pinch the exposed skin right above the waistline of the jeans. But his eyes don't move. They are looking straight into mine.

"Are you serious?" he asks me. "She told you that?"

I nod. Edward reaches out and runs his hands down my sides, resting them on my hips. He squeezes and smiles. He pulls me closer, until his cheek is against my stomach. I touch his other cheek and feel his breath on my hand.

"Fuck her. I don't care that she's your best friend – that's not cool."

"Edward…"

"Don't defend her. These jeans are hot on you. Your ass... you look..."

He lifts my shirt and presses his lips to my skin. I hold his head there and I play with his slightly greasy hair.

"She's just... her parents are... and you know..." I manage to say. My brain is telling me to shut up and feel his mouth and his hands, make him lie down and lie on top of him.

He looks up and narrows his eyes. "I do know. At first it was kinda hot. Now it's getting on my nerves," he tells me.

"What?" I ask, and his eyes are on my face again. He looks as confused as I feel.

"Are you kidding me?"

"Edward, you've lost me," I admit. And please, please shut up and use your mouth to do yummy things again. Don't use it to say negative things about my best friend. I love her. I want you to love her too.

"You really don't know?" he asks.

I shake my head. No. I don't know. What's hot? What's getting on your nerves? How are you smiling so big all of a sudden? I thought you were angry. Oh Bella, his teeth are so nice. _Why _is he smiling so big?

Edward throws himself back on the bed and laughs. And laughs. And laughs.

"Bella," he starts, but he's laughing again and pulling me down next to him.

"Bella, she likes you," he finally says.

I consider this for a second before I push him away with a hand against his chest.

"Perv. She's my best friend!"

"You can't be serious. Bella, she looks at you like…"

He stops and gives me a mischievous smile.

"Like?" I ask, urging him to continue by tugging on the soft cotton of his shirt.

"Like... I don't know. Like she wants you. Like... you're something to eat."

Now I'm the one laughing. He's so ridiculous and such a boy.

"What?" Edward wants to know. I look up at him for a second and his eyes are so big.

"Don't you believe me?" he asks.

"You need to stop watching bad porn. Jane is my friend. She's not acting like this because she likes me. Things are just very difficult for her right now," I explain, once my laughter has subsided.

"Wow, you are _really _good at ignoring things that are right in front of you. You've got to be the least perceptive person I know."

"Excuse me? I am _so_ perceptive! Also, I have a strong sense of intuition. You have no idea, Edward, I –"

His huge smile makes me smile. I don't know how we have ended up like this, but I'm on my knees, hovering over him, my head bent until it meets his forehead. He sits back on his elbows, and we're not touching, but I hear and feel each breath he takes. They become harsher. A little uneven. Not like when he is moving against me and inside me and looking into my eyes like he'll die if he looks away. No, not like _that_, but I think that's what he wants, and I think it's what he is thinking of right now.

"I... I perceive..."

"Yeah?"

"Right now, you want me lying down and... and you want...."

"Yeah?" he asks, his breath and tongue on my throat now.

"You want to be on top of me... and... you want to..."

"What do I want?" he asks.

"Me," I whisper, not sure how else to put it. I can say he wants sex. That he wants to fuck me. That he wants to be inside me. But those are all just ways for him to have me. And he has me. Quietly, slowly, even though we should be going faster than ever, given that my father is downstairs. It's all kisses and my eyes and his eyes and the word 'yes' coming from him over and over. I want to push him away because it hurts so much, but instead I'm pulling him closer. My thighs are sore, but I stretch them wider and he likes that. He likes that so much that his hands find my knees and he pushes them further apart and I watch him above me, moving fast and hard now. I try to still him, remembering that we're not alone in the house, but he shakes his head, and with his palms on the insides of my knees, he moves two more times, pressing them down towards the bed. Watching himself in me. Sweaty. On top of me. Heavy. All over me. I want to push him off again because we can get caught. We will get caught. But he's warm and his chest is salty and his laugh is sweet, so I keep him on me and move my hips until he's ready again.

He's not inside me this time, but it feels so, so good. We stare at each other, mouths open in awe, fascinated with all we are feeling. Has anything felt warmer? Hotter? Softer? Better? I hold onto him as he slides against me. I hold on so tight, I swear my fingers feel like they're going to break. And what do I do if they break? Will I be able to stop him? Will I be asking for more? Will I be able to come and come and come with broken bones and an ache that he only makes worse? Oh, but I love the ache. And it disappears because Edward is so, so hard, and the heat there... that heat is like nothing ever before, and it feels so nice. And I'm up, up, up until nothing exists outside that single point inside me that I know is going to explode, making me cry out and hold on, and say 'Edward' until I feel him wet and warm over my skin. Then I float and float and dream and smile and it's a lazy Sunday morning in my bed, though it's really not, but that's how he makes me feel. I soar and fall and he's always here. His weight and his breath and his kisses and his "did I make you come?" and my assurances and his smiles. And... And... And... It never ends. I can go on forever and tell you how I don't feel him wet and warm on my skin like I thought I would, because I push him back and play with him until I hear the front door open. Perfect timing, because his eyes are closed and his hands are in my hair and God, he's grinning—and I'd be grinning too if he wasn't in my mouth—and his hands are pushing and he opens his eyes, looks down, meets mine, and there we go. All night long, he texts and tells me about my mouth. I know silly, it's _my_ mouth. He's in love with it and wants it on him forever. I say okay, because maybe if he wants my mouth he'll keep the rest of me, too.

My dreams are pretty and happy and there is no Jane. There is just us. And I know one day I will miss this boy, even as I touch and love the man he becomes. Tonight, I talk to this man, but can't hear the words. He laughs and pinches, and laughs and hugs. Happy, happy, happy. Friendly and sweet and blushing. Why are we blushing? Why are we suddenly standing apart? Polite goodbyes and he runs off. I wake up drenched in sweat. My eyes open and meet their identical pair. My father is holding me in his strong, strong arms.

"It'll be okay."

XxXxX

"You look like shit."

"I own a mirror."

"Why didn't Cullen pick you up today?"

"I told him I wanted to ride with you."

Jasper doesn't say anything, but throws me a plastic bag full of orange slices. I open it and take one out, squeezing a little and playing with it before I put it in my mouth. I hate biting into the skin, but once I taste the fruit, it's worth it.

I notice that Jane isn't eating her apple. I nudge her shoulder and hold the bag up in front of her face. She shakes her head and pushes it away.

"Jane," I say, trying to keep my voice soft and sweet. "Let's just forget what happened. I apologized for inviting Edward."

"Apology accepted. I told you."

"Yeah, you did, but you also ignored me yesterday and the day before."

You ignored me when I needed you the most. I woke up in the middle of the night being held by my father because I had been screaming and making enough noise to wake him up. I don't know what I saw, but I know that it was different, and that you'd calm me down, or explain, or make me laugh if I told you. But you won't even let me talk to you. You don't know about that dream, or the one I had last night where Edward and I were sitting across from each other, drinking coffee, staring at the small round table between us that had the map of Massachusetts drawn on it. I nodded a lot as he spoke and he nodded a lot when I spoke – you know, the kind of nodding that says, "Oh, interesting, good to know. Ah, so that's what you've been up to." You don't even know that I had sex with him. So many times. Saturday. Sunday. Last night. It feels so good, but afterwards I'm always a little sad. I freak out for a few minutes, and that's when I want to talk to you because he's just quiet and in his own world and he's very nice, but sometimes too intense for me. And I don't know what to say or how to lie there beside him without touching him again, and then his hands are on me, and _Jane_… the things he says. I'm not sure he's even aware that he's saying them. All this information. Sex. Dreams. Things I feel. You're not letting me share any of it and I'm not sure why.

"Ignored you?" she asks. "We had a quiz yesterday. And I need to work on my project for Mr. Banner if I want it to be included in the show."

The show. Again.

"Fine. So fucking stubborn. Let's just continue to –"

"Bella, are you bringing Cullen?" Jasper asks, cutting me off before I turn this into another fight.

Jane starts to laugh. "Bella isn't coming. Bella is going to a baseball game now that she has a fancy new hat," she tells him.

I watch Jasper's fingers as they tighten around the steering wheel.

"Whatever, Jane. She's been to all your shows. Don't give her a hard time."

"I'm not!" Jane turns back and looks at me. "I'm not. I swear. Listen, we'll hang out after school. I need to do some stuff for mom, but let's go running? Or maybe we can go down to La Push and walk on the beach? It's going to be too cold to do that soon."

I nod and smile.

Jane runs to class before I can stop her, and we barely have a chance to talk during chemistry. She stops by our table at lunch and we decide to meet at the beach after school. Everything seems okay. She even smiles at Edward, whose hand found my lower back the second Jane appeared. He's a little strange. While he hasn't brought up the stupid "Jane has a crush on you" theory again, he's acting like Jane is his rival. In a way I suppose she is.

Just as Jane is walking away—but while she's still within earshot—Edward pulls me to him and says, "Baby."

I pretend my stomach didn't just jump and the butterflies didn't start fluttering and dancing. I wiggle my nose and narrow my eyes.

"Did you just call me baby?"

"I guess."

"Okay. 'Baby' what?" I ask.

"I don't know. Nothing. Just..." He shrugs and pulls away from me.

"You just do things to annoy Jane."

"So you admit that she likes you."

"No! She's just uncomfortable with PDA."

"She was gone –"

"No she wasn't. Edward... be nice. Make her feel comfortable and welcome. She means the world to me. I'll always choose her."

He nods. One nod. Short. Quick. His body stiffens and he throws a fry onto the tray. It's a fast, jerky movement. I don't like it. His body language. It's wrong.

"Don't you have someone you'd choose over me?" I quietly ask.

Say no. Or say 'mom' or 'dad' or –

"Myself."

Oh.

The rest of lunch and our walk to class are pretty much silent.

XxXxX

I can't stop thinking about what happened at lunch today. I hate that it's on my mind. I hate that it's all I think about. It's not that he did anything bad – it's more about the way he acts most of the time. He acts like a jerk and apologizes, and I forgive him because I don't know what else to do. I'd be punishing myself if I didn't forgive him. No warm body. No kisses. No whispers. No beautiful boy who smiles at me, touches me, makes me blush and laugh and come and dream.

Sitting in my truck, waiting for Jane to show up, I wonder if I'd be so forgiving if I didn't "know" Edward before already. It's like when you have preconceived notions about something, and you're not willing to let them go. You use them to make excuses, explain away certain things. If we had met in the future instead of just a few weeks ago, he would have continued his previous relationship, he would have experienced different things, and the Edward of the future could have been very different. So our meeting now – does it mean that future Edward will be different from Hat Guy, or am I part of the experiences that turn him into Hat Guy? It's confusing, and probably not that important. We can get there together. If he continues to fuck up and his fuck-ups turn into big mistakes that cannot be forgiven so easily, I will no longer give him my forgiveness… or maybe I will. But if they are small mistakes, mistakes I am just as likely to commit, why not give him the benefit of the doubt?

I look at my watch because I'm pretty sure Jane is late. Yes. Twenty-three minutes late. I check my phone and there are no messages, so I try calling her but get her voicemail. Jane. Ugh. Always late. Always failing to pick up the phone. I try her house, but I get the answering machine after five rings. I sit for another twenty minutes until I get a text.

_Were we supposed to hang out? I forgot. In PA. Next week? _

Next week? It's Wednesday. Why not tonight? Tomorrow? Friday? Saturday morning? All day Sunday? My hands are shaking because I'm so angry, but instead of calling Jane and leaving a nasty message or texting her to say "go to hell," I let go of my phone and take a few deep breaths. Port Angeles. She's there to see her dad. It's okay. I'll call her tonight.

I start my truck but remain parked because my phone rings. It's not Jane, and I'm disappointed for a second, but it's the next best thing.

"_Bella?"_

Anxious and hesitant and young. He sounds so young.

"Yeah..."

"_Where are you?" _

"Um, at the beach. Jane isn't going to make it, I –"

"_Yeah, I know. She's with my cousin and Emmett."_

"What?" I ask. I feel so sick. My face is so hot. I want to hang up and reread her text and call her and tell her to go fuck herself.

"_They went to see a movie in Port Angeles. I thought you were hanging out with her..."_

"I was. I waited. She just texted..."

"_Where's the beach?"_

"W-why?"

"_My mom's on her way out, I'll ask her to drop me off."_

"You don't have to…"

But I give him directions, and twenty minutes later he is sitting next to me. He doesn't say anything and stares out the window as I sit and sulk. If I speak, I'll start a crazy rant and say things about Jane that I can't take back. I want to ask him if he saw Jane before they left for Port Angeles. I want to ask when these plans were made. Instead, I sit and say nothing. He yawns after a few minutes, and doesn't bother to cover it up.

"I'll take you home. I'm sorry, I'm no fun today."

He looks angry and I have absolutely no patience for this right now. I sit up and move my hand to the ignition before he jumps out, taking with him the blanket Jane had thrown into the truck. My door opens and he drags me out.

"People aren't always fun. Come on."

It's windy, and I don't know if the blanket will provide enough protection from the chilly air. Edward takes my hand and leads me down to the beach. He throws the blanket on the ground and scratches his head. I watch him take off his jacket, then his hoodie. He shivers a little and winces. His arms are so nice. I want to kiss his biceps like I was doing last night. Edward grabs my arms and pulls me closer. He's trying to dress me and I want to smack his hands and push him away, because he's hurting me. Finally, when I'm warm in his hoodie and he has put his jacket back on, he touches my face and gives me a quick kiss.

I'm in his arms on the blanket, and then the blanket is around us. Wet and cold and windy, but he's so comfortable. So warm.

"I'm sorry," he tells me.

"What? Why?"

"I didn't realize… you're really upset."

I shrug. "I just hate being stood up. I can't believe she made me wait and had plans to hang out with them all along."

"I'm not sure she did. Rosalie called her after school. I didn't know she was going to. I would've told her you had plans."

"Still. She ditched me to hang out with them. She texted to say she forgot… I've never done that. You don't get it. She's been my entire world since I was, like, three. She's never done anything like this. We spend almost every night sleeping over at each other's houses and I love her more than I love my parents, even. She's my other half. I don't want to be without her."

Edward doesn't take his eyes off my face while I'm talking. When I notice this, I feel more comfortable, and I let myself completely relax against him.

"And now she's… She ignores me, avoids me," I tell him. "She lies. She makes me wait. I am _so_ mad. Oh my _God_. Does she think I'm going to… to break up with you or stop… I don't even know what. W-Why would she even want that? If she says she wants to hang out, I'll go to her. She knows this isn't a competition. She's just like her mom sometimes. It's always about Jane. Jane's feelings. 'Be sensitive, Bella.' 'Think about her feelings, Bella.' Did she think about my feelings when she decided to be a third wheel on your cousin's date with Emmett? Don't even look at me like that. They are so boning. I know Emmett, and where do you think they disappeared to Saturday night? Ugh, I'm so mad. I –"

I'm crying. Not quiet sobs, not little whimpers and a few tears. I'm crying like I was crying the other night when I woke up from my dream. I can't breathe, and my entire body is shaking, and my jaw is doing that thing, and I try to stop it because I probably look so stupid. I can't stop. The tears come, and I try to get up to be by myself and cry without Edward sitting here watching me, but he won't let me get up.

"Where are you going?"

He holds me so tightly that I'm barely even shaking anymore.

"Don't cry. It makes me… Please, don't cry."

This makes me cry more. I'm making the most embarrassing noises. Whimpering and sobbing and doing this squeaking thing every time I take a deep breath.

"Okay, then cry," Edward says.

I try to stop. I try because he seems uncomfortable, because I don't know why I'm crying like this. I try, but it doesn't work. It gets worse every time I think I have managed to calm down. He rocks me a little, but I hate this. He stops. He kisses my face, but I don't want him to see it, so he gives up.

"Are you warm?" he asks. "Do you want me to talk? Yeah? Here, sit between – yeah, like that. Are you sure you're warm? You feel warm."

He holds me like this, my back against his chest, and his face against my face, and his legs tight around me, until he speaks again.

"You know that thing we read in class today? I thought it was shit. Do you read a lot? Here, let me… Good? Anyway, we read that last year, at my old school. The writer… I don't know… It felt too detached to me. All those things he was supposedly saying – they didn't come across… or maybe I didn't get it."

He runs his hands through his hair a few times, and then they are back on me.

"It doesn't make sense to me," he continues. "When you feel something, something like that, how can you describe it in just a few words? You shouldn't be able to stop. You know... I don't know. If I were a writer, I'd… I'd be a shitty writer. Like when I think about you, all I think is "Bella" and good and nice and skin and warm, and I think about fucking you and holding you. It's like I know you're not just… you're more than that, but – I can't come up with anything else to say. I want to. Like right now, I could make you happy saying romantic things, but I don't have… I don't know. I think… you're the best. And last night after you left, I thought even if I meet lots of girls, even if they're great, nothing will feel as good as you. It's cold out here. Are you warm? I'm gonna lie down; come here. Are you okay? It'll be okay."

**You know how it goes. Let me know your thoughts and I'll give you some of mine. It makes writing this so much fun. Yell at Jane, roll your eyes at Edward, speculate on eating disorders and weird Charlie. Oh, Charlie. **

**Thank you for reading this thing.**

**xo**


	14. I'm sorry

**I'd like to thank ****Writeontime for being wonderful. I'm so lucky to have her in my life. **

**Thank you ciaobella27 and spargelkun for reading this, watching awesome videos with me, and telling me your secrets.**

**I don't own Twilight. Some of the things Edward says belong to sweet boys I've met or would like to meet.**

"What?" I ask him when I open my eyes. He's sitting on the bed next to me in his old white t-shirt and dark blue boxers. Did he ever take them off? I'm not even sure. But I know I have the stupid Edward-just-made-me-fly smile on my face that makes him grin from ear to ear. My heart beats wildly and I squeeze my thighs together, watching him stare at me. I wait to feel my cheeks heat up because I'm lying here in nothing, but they don't—not until I watch his eyes move over every part of me.

"_What_?" I ask again. I'm about to say, "Stop staring at me like that," but then he'll stop, and I don't want him to. He chuckles and lights a cigarette, but his eyes are serious. His hand moves to my stomach and covers it.

"I'm memorizing you," he tells me.

"Why?"

"You're pink."

I scrunch up my face and shake my head.

"You're soft."

I smile.

"Your hair is all over my pillows."

My smile grows wider.

"You're tiny. Look at my hand on your stomach. It like, covers most of it. Shit. I wanna take a picture. It's kind of awesome."

I shake my head. "No! I'm not wearing anything."

"Relax," he tells me. "I'd never."

"Hand me my skirt?"

He reaches down and picks it up off the floor. "This looks long," he comments.

"Yeah."

"It's not this long when you wear it."

I bite my lip, trying to suppress my smile, but it doesn't work. He throws me my skirt and I manage to put it on, never getting off his bed. My bra is lying next to me, and I wear that next.

"Are you leaving?" he asks.

"Your parents will be here soon."

He shrugs. "Stay."

"Hi Mr. and Mrs. Cullen," I start in a sweet voice. "I'm Bella. I just made your son lick me until I screamed so loud he almost suffocated me with a pillow. Look at my hair. Can't you tell?"

"Or you could just say 'Hi, I'm Bella,' and shake their hands," Edward suggests.

"I'd have to wash them first." I giggle. He puts out his cigarette and laughs.

"Stay for a while," he insists. "And don't wash your hands. I like you dirty."

"You like me dirty?"

"I do. And clean. I also like you clean," he says.

"Dirty and clean."

"Yeah."

Edward stands up and walks over to the window, opening it a few inches. He throws me my shirt, which was sitting on his desk. He says I should put it on because it's cold. I thank him, and he apologizes for having to open the window to get rid of the smoke and smell of cigarettes.

"Hey, can you get me the—,"

His phone rings and he holds up a finger.

"Hey mom… Yeah… Yeah, I'm home… I think so, I can check… What? Mom… Okay, sure… Wait, is this about what you and Dad were talking… Sure, whatever… Bye."

Edward throws his phone onto the bed and runs his hands through his hair, looking perplexed and a little… green.

"What?"

"Huh? Nothing. That was my mom."

"Yeah, I got that. What's wrong?" I ask.

"I… I don't know. She's on her way home and wanted to make sure Rosalie and I were both here."

"Oh. I should go…"

He doesn't say anything, but continues to scratch his head. I wonder if his mom just gave him some bad news, but they were on the phone for less than a minute—surely not enough time to relay important information to your kid. My parents would sit me down and make sure I'm calm. Is his mom okay? His dad? Does he even have any other family? I know he's an only child, like me, and that he has an uncle who's Rosalie's dad, but grandparents? Other aunts and uncles? I have no idea. He just looks so upset right now.

"Are you sure—,"

"Huh? Sorry. She's still in PA. Don't go."

I roll my eyes and he shrugs, immediately annoyed. "Or go. Whatever, Bella."

"Come here."

Sighing, he walks over and throws himself onto the bed.

"I never wanna go," I tell him.

He rolls over onto his stomach and looks up at me.

"I love your knees."

"What?" I ask, giggling.

"I love them. They're a little knobby. I think that's what I thought the first time I saw them, on the first day of school. Your legs are like, really long, but skinny, like a kid's. I love them."

"Come here."

He crawls up until our faces are touching.

"I'm in love with your eyebrows," I confess in a whisper. "I'm not sure why. I can't go into a lengthy explanation, but I think you need to know this."

He laughs and holds me. "You never put on your underwear," he says.

"I know. I have to find..."

"Don't find anything." He's on top of me, and I feel him and I think he wants to have sex again, but instead he simply kisses me, and kisses me, and kisses me. I push him off forty minutes later and ask him to take me home. He takes the long way back, and I know it's to avoid passing by Jane's house.

"You don't have to do that every time."

"Do what?" he asks.

"You know, the big detour."

"Just taking the scenic route." Edward smiles as he pulls into the driveway. "I'll call you tonight," he promises.

But he doesn't. At around eleven, I am too tired to care. I send him a text saying 'goodnight' and throw my phone into my bag. All my dreams are of Edward, this Edward, my Edward. And I'm Bella. I'm not an older version of myself. I'm not worried, or sad. My hair isn't short, and I never wear glasses. I'm me, and he holds my hand anyway. He laughs a lot, and shows me new things, and kisses me until I beg him to stop. I breathe in as much oxygen as I can, and then pull him back to my mouth. These dreams make me wake up happy, but I frown the second I notice he hasn't tried to call all night.

He's called every night before going to bed for the past two weeks. It's been over two weeks since Jane decided to stop being my friend. I told her that going out with Rosalie and Emmett—knowing full well that we had made plans—was wrong, and she said nothing. She didn't speak to me in chem, no one knew where she was at lunch. Just a few days ago, she showed up and sat at our table with Jasper by her side. This time, I ignored her. Edward told me later that same day that I should just forget about what happened and put it behind me. I want to. I miss her. I miss her so much. But she needs to say something. Sitting with us at lunch while remaining silent the entire time isn't enough.

Edward picks me up and smiles a lot. He smiles when I complain about having to read poetry for the next two weeks in English. He smiles when I tell him we need to run away and not go to any of our classes today. He smiles when I tell him his smiles aren't real.

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"It's weird. And annoying. Stop smiling like that."

"I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize," I tell him. "But I want to know why you're fake-smiling this morning."

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I didn't call last night."

"And you thought I'd forget if you blinded me with your smile?"

"My parents spent a lot of money on my teeth. They used to look… not as good. And it usually works." He smiles again, and he's right—it's glorious.

"Kiss me, Bella."

He rarely says my name like this. He says it a countless amount of times when we're kissing, when he's inside me, when I hold him and touch him, but very rarely when we're just... hanging out. I rarely say his, either. All my words are his. They are all meant for him. My voice lowers in tone and I lean over when I speak to him. I know this, because I started paying attention when I noticed him doing the same thing. Even if I ask for a fry or tell him what page we're on in class, it's like we're sharing a secret.

So I lean over and kiss his shoulder, then his neck.

"Wait," I say, once I realize that we're not driving to school. "Where are we going?"

"I, umm... we're picking up Jasper and his sister."

"His _sister_, Edward?"

"You guys need to... you have to forgive her," he tells me.

"And I will, once she apologizes. Why are we picking them up? They have a car, and I'm not—"

"This is my car. I'm picking them up."

"Always a jerk," I say, moving as far away from him as I possibly can. My cheek is practically stuck to the cold window.

"Don't do that."

He grabs my arm and pulls me toward him. "Stay close to me."

Jane doesn't speak to me the entire ride over to school. Jasper and Edward discuss baseball; Edward tells him about the game we went to. It was so nice. The baseball was boring, but Edward was so excited, and the Yankees won, and he kissed me and let me sit on his lap, and let me buy him hot dogs, which I fed him. On our way back, I sat on him and became obsessed with his ear, and when he came he said "I love this, I love this, I love this" and he held me, and it was the nicest moment in my short little life. I remember this as we're walking into the building, and squeeze his fingers. He squeezes right back, and when we're seated in class, he moves his chair so close to mine that Ms. Denali asks us if we're working on a group project she wasn't aware she'd assigned. My day is gorgeous, and perfect, and I keep smiling even when Jane sits with us at lunch.

"Hey Bella," she says in her shy voice, the one she reserves for strangers and teachers and her mom.

"Hey."

"I found a frame yesterday... It's perfect for the drawing… if you still have it."

I look up and stare right into her eyes. Edward's hand finds my knee and moves up and down my leg.

"Of course I have it. Where'd you find the frame?" I ask.

"A store... in Port Angeles."

"Oh yeah? Were you there to see another movie?"

"Listen, I'm sorry—"

"Don't. No. It's fine. I had a great time that day. Edward called and met me on the beach. And you know what we did? We made out and then had sex in my truck. But that was all after I spent an hour crying and ruined his favorite shirt. I cried because my best friend is a jerk. He let me because he's nice. We had sex because it feels amazing. Wanna know what else I've been up to these past few weeks while you've been looking for the perfect fucking frame for the drawing you gave me on my birthday before treating me like shit?"

She's never looked this pale before. Edward's fingers have never hurt me as much as they're hurting me right now. "Be nice," he hisses, removing his hand from my leg. I bring it back over my now red skin, moving it back and forth until he's doing it on his own. He hangs his head and mumbles and apology when he sees what he's done.

"I do... I do want to know what you've been up to. I'm sorry about that day. I..."

She gets up and quickly walks out of the cafeteria.

"What the fuck is your problem? She apologized and bought you a frame."

"Edward, really, I'm being serious when I tell you this: mind your own business."

He doesn't say anything. He eats. I eat. A few minutes pass before I get up, not sure why I'm moving. He looks up at me and I push my tray towards him, indicating that he can eat whatever's left on it. I run towards the girls' bathroom and open the door. I knew she'd be here.

"Janey, not here. I'm sorry."

She stops sniffling and coughs twice.

"Come out. I want to talk to you," I tell her.

"Jane..."

Nothing.

"I should've asked you before I told him to hang out with us. I feel bad I didn't come to your show. I... he's awesome, Jane. He's so awesome. And I don't know, I mean, I always thought I'd never be one of those girls who'd ditch her friends for a boy, but it's like, I know I need him around all the time. I'm probably so needy and clingy, but like, he wants me around. I should make more time for you, but to be fair, it wasn't even like that when you... when you started getting... Listen, I love you, and you're my best friend, but you need to accept—"

The door opens, and a red-faced Jane comes out.

"I know. He's in your life. I'm so sorry for being such a jerk. It's just..."

When Jane cries, I feel sick—especially if it's my fault. I practically jump on her and hold her and hold her, and she feels so cold. It's so different from holding Edward. Edward is warm and hard and smells like cigarettes, and me. Jane is small, and if I squeeze too tight I swear she might break. She smells like coconut. But they're both so soft. She feels and smells so familiar. I've missed her more than I can say.

"You…you had sex with him?" she asks me.

I nod.

"W-when?"

"When I spent the night at his place..."

"Wow."

"Yeah..."

"Was it... I mean, forget..."

"Yeah." I nod and nod until my neck starts to hurt.

"Yeah?"

"Uh huh. I wanna do it all the time."

"Did it hurt?" she whispers.

"Not enough to make me stop him."

"Ouch. Did you... you know..."

"Yeah, well, not the first few times. But since then... yeah."

Her eyes are so round and her mouth is wide open. "I... congrats? I mean, wow. Does anyone else know?"

"Rosalie... heard us?" I blush and play with the ends of my hair.

"Oh."

I shrug.

"Do... do you want to go back to the cafeteria? I mean, he's there," she mumbles.

"No," I tell her. "But let's get out of here. It smells gross."

She washes her face and smiles at me in the mirror. We walk out together and she tugs on my skirt, because I've rolled it up too high today. We sit on the floor by my locker and she reads over her notes for a quiz, while I read the stupid assignment for tomorrow's English class. While it's Edward who drives me home and spends the afternoon with me, I have Jane back. We talk on the phone all night and Edward picks her up again in the morning so we can ride to school together. She doesn't say anything but simply smiles when Edward takes my hand and drags me from our table at lunch on Friday. She laughs when he declares that he's going to kiss me for the entire lunch hour. I let him. The locker is cold and hard against my back at first, but I don't feel it once his tongue touches me.

XxXxX

"Spend the day with me," he repeats for the tenth time.

Fine, maybe not the tenth time, but definitely the fourth, or fifth, or sixth.

"I promised my mom we'd go to Target and look for new bedding."

"Bella, Target will be there next weekend. Come on."

"I'll be back tonight," I tell him. "We'll hang out then."

"Tonight? How much time do you and your mom spend at Target?" he asks. He sounds annoyed and upset. He looks almost… desperate.

I won't pretend I don't love this—Edward constantly asking me to hang out and spend time with him. I love it, and I love the way he keeps his hand in mine all the time, the way our knees always touch when our hands can't, the way he looks at me and listens to every stupid thing I say, acting like it's super important. He still doesn't say much—if anything, he says less—but he chooses the fewest words to say best things.

He looks at me now, biting his bottom lip like he's been doing lately. I usually tease him for picking up little things I do and copying me, just like I copy him, but I just respond to his question instead.

"It takes about three hours to get there."

"Three hours? What the… Three hours, Bella?"

"It's not my fault! I—"

Edward is looking over my shoulder towards the door. I turn to find my mother standing there, a small smile on her face.

"Bella, you should spend the day with Edward," she says sweetly. "It's too far a drive when I can just order everything on the Internet."

My mom has just discovered that she can enter the numbers from the back of her credit card and buy things with a few clicks of her new wireless mouse. She went a little overboard recently, buying shoes on a website offering free shipping on all purchases, but she returned most of them and my dad didn't stay mad for long. And we really need new comforters. They think I need a new bed as well, since I haven't really been sleeping well. Up until a few days ago, I was having trouble sleeping. Dreams that made no sense woke me up, and I would always find my dad sitting next to me, looking tired and worried, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

"Bella?" two voices say at once.

Edward and my mother are staring at me, looking concerned. I smile and shrug.

"Sorry, I got a little lost there. Are you sure?" I ask her.

"I'm sure. Have fun, kids. Go outside. It's chilly, but it looks like the sun may come out later."

She leaves my room and I turn to Edward, who is sitting on a chair, playing with one of my hair ties.

"Okay, so what do you want to today?"

"Beach?" he suggests.

"You like that place too much," I say. "First Beach is closer."

His face falls.

"I mean, I know it's not as nice," I continue, "but—"

"You were lucky enough to grow up here. Let me enjoy the beach."

"Lucky. Sure."

"It's a great beach," he says.

I roll my eyes at him and find a long-sleeved t-shirt to wear over my tank. Edward's old school sweatshirt is on my bed, and I put that on as well.

"You can keep that," he tells me.

"Yeah, thanks. It's already mine," I inform him.

He gets off the chair and moves towards me, forcing me to walk backwards until I hit the wall.

"Everything I own is yours."

Cheesy, but it's okay because he's smiling like an idiot, obviously kidding around with me.

"Is that so?" I ask, smiling back.

His lips find my forehead and temples and cheeks and chin.

"I don't own much," he tells me.

"That's because you're a kid," I joke. He laughs when I remind him that I'm an adult but he's still seventeen.

"A kid in…" He clears his throat and runs his hand down my side. "Who's crazy about you," he finishes.

My heart skips a beat and he knows this, because my eyes tell him, and he looks smug and stupid and excited.

"Are you really? That's such a weird thing to say, like, old-timey."

His forehead is against mine, and he smiles. "You think so?"

I nod.

"Should I find more modern ways to express myself?" he asks.

"I think you express yourself quite clearly," I whisper against his mouth.

He is hard and ugh—who even cares what else he is? He's so hard against me, and I move myself against him to show him that I know—I really know just how much he likes me.

"Oh yeah." He chuckles. "But it's more than that."

"More than this?" I tease, moving again until he holds my hips and rocks against me.

"I like you," he says.

"I know."

"I like your hair."

"Me too." I giggle.

"I like it when you laugh."

I start making little panting sounds in his ear that I will never learn to control.

"I like that too," he tells me.

"What?" I manage to say between those desperate, eager little sounds that keep coming from my throat.

So good, good, good. Why are we here? And why isn't this boy dragging me into my truck to rock like this away from my parents, someplace where I can let the little sounds become big and true, because when they're this soft and low, they're mere lies. The sounds I want to make for him… The sounds I want to hear from him… They make me blush and look away after they're made and heard.

His hand moves between my legs. I bite down on his shoulder, wishing it isn't cotton I meet, but his skin.

"I like those sounds," he says, making a few of his own when my hand moves between his legs. "I like it when you make them because you can't breathe, because I'm inside you. You take small breaths and gasp. It's all I want to hear. If I could choose one thing—"

Footsteps on the stairs mean dropped hands and quick checks to make sure we look like we haven't been touching and liking and moving with my parents downstairs. About an hour and a half later, full on burgers and milkshakes from my favorite drive-in that Edward now also loves, we pull into the gravel parking lot at Rialto Beach. He loves it here. We've spent hours in the wet, cold wind these past two weeks just walking around.

There's a lot of green and a lot of driftwood that Edward is obsessed with.

"There's something raw about this place," he says as we're walking down a path towards the beach.

"Raw?"

"Yeah."

"Like sushi." He loves it when I say random things that have nothing to do with what we're talking about.

He smiles a little, but ultimately goes back to looking serious and acting like he thinks a lot about important things. I don't think he actually does. I tell myself he's thinking about me.

"It's just very real here."

"Real?" I ask.

"Yeah."

"Real like this?" And I pull on his jacket and stand on my toes, kissing him under the clouds and almost-sun.

"Real like that," he confirms.

We walk in silence for a while, watching hikers and other crazy people go back and forth and take pictures. Bad time for it, dudes. It's not the prettiest day, despite my mother's predictions, and I really wouldn't want to be camping out here with the wind and the chill you can totally feel in your bones.

I watch a tall, very skinny man with a long, grayish beard make gestures with his hands, clearly explaining something to the three people who are standing by him. Edward's arms around me make me jump and a high-pitched girly sound escapes from me. The very skinny man and his friends look over at us. A small, plump woman, carrying a bag that's bigger than she is, smiles at us.

His arms immediately tighten around me, and then they are so tight that I bring my hands to his and try to pry them off me.

"Edward!"

"Sorry."

He lets go and takes my hand. We walk around another ten minutes until he sets our blanket on a dry patch of ground far from the water. He always wants to sit back and watch things, never get too close. This frustrates me, because as cold as it is, I want to be closer to the waves and the sand and the sound.

"Are you okay?" he asks me.

"Yeah. Just, you know, sometimes you don't realize how strong you are."

He laughs, and my immediate reaction is to smile and grin and giggle at the sight of him.

"Bella, I'm the least strong guy I know," he says.

"Then you know super strong guys."

We lie on the blanket on our sides, faces together and my top leg between his legs, and all of me in his arms. He wraps the blanket around us, and he makes fun of my hair. My hair hates the humidity.

"It's just… intense sometimes," he randomly comments.

"What's intense?"

"Everything," he replies, looking at me like I'm weird or slow or crazy. Or maybe weird _and _slow _and_ crazy.

"Like, I'll hold you," he continues, "and it's like something tells me, you're holding Bella, you can't just _hold_ her. Make it tight and good, and make it real."

My brain shuts down and words… they're gone. I hide my face in his chest and he laughs, rubbing my back and saying more words that make me wish I had some of my own that sound half as nice.

Is this what it's like to fall in love? Do boys go from ignoring you in class to making you stupid on cold beaches and soft beds and every other place they take you in between?

I reach up and hold his face in my hands. I kiss him until it's too cold to sit out here. The day has gone by so fast, and it's already almost dark when I pull up into the driveway. The house is dark. My parents are probably in La Push, visiting Seth's mom. Guilt creeps into me because Seth used to be one of my good friends, and I chose a shitty time to break up with him last year. At the time, I didn't know his father was going to die from a heart attack just two weeks later. I went over with my parents when it happened, and I tried to be his friend and offer my support, but he ignored me and brushed me off. We speak now, and he teases me like he used to do when we were kids, but that's about it.

"Your parents are out," Edward points out.

"I see that."

"Wanna go upstairs?"

His voice is deep and he sounds a little hoarse. Bad boy, smoking all the time.

"You're all sorts of desperate and clingy lately," I tease. "Yesterday you followed me around all morning, today you nagged me into going to the beach again. What gives? I know I'm awesome, but you usually like to do the 'I'm too cool to hang out all the time, I have to read smart-people books and be alone to think' thing."

I stick out my tongue to show him that I'm teasing, just in case he's only half-listening. He smiles but looks sad, so I put my hands against his chest and tell him to come inside with me.

"Will they come back soon?" he asks me, once we're back in the dark, this time in my room.

"I don't know, why? It's fine, we'll be quick," I reply.

"No. I want you naked. All your skin. On me," he says.

"Risky." But yes, let me feel all your skin against me too.

So fuck common sense and everything else. He's going to be naked against me, in my bed. And it takes no time to be naked, on my back, with him on top of me. Just skin and warmth and thrusts and me, coming and coming because he has figured me out, and knows what I like and need and want from him. But if someone were to tell me, "No more orgasms for you, Bella Swan. If you want this boy, you'll never come again," I'd ask them if I could still feel him heavy all over me, if he'd still kiss me and speak to me and smile for me. And if the answer's "yes"—I'd say goodbye to that one type of thrill and take the hundreds of thrills he makes me feel instead. And realizing this makes me hold on so tight, and holding him like this makes him tell me that I hurt him.

He slows down and looks into my eyes.

"Shouldn't be… shit. Shouldn't be doing this," he says, still moving and moving inside me.

"Why?" I ask, or maybe I don't say the word out loud, but I know I think it.

"It hurts to touch you," he says between breaths. Faster and harder, and if it hurts, why are your hands on my neck and arms and chest and breasts and on my face… God, when they're on my face…

This time I speak the word, and hear myself say it.

"Why?"

_Bella, Bella, Bella, Bella_. And he's on his back and I'm on top.

"You're so _light_."

I move the way he likes me to move, and he likes it so much that his eyes close tight and his hands on my hips grip so tight, and oh my God, my hands move to my stomach and up and I'm touching my own breasts and moving like I'll die if I stop. He tells me I'm light every time we move, and he emphasizes "so", and he emphasizes "light", and sometimes he says "good" instead of "light", and by the end I'm under him again, and his face is in my neck and I squeeze him with my thighs.

"You… so good… better than everyone else. Don't make me go," he says against my skin.

"Don't go," I tell him. "Stay here, I… I—"

I love you. Why do you have to go home and leave me here all by myself? When we're older, you never go. Or if you do, you always come back. Even after bad things happen and we fight or get awkward, you come back. And we have one bed and it's for Bella and Edward. And we have one bathroom, and it's small and not clean enough. And we have lots of books, and you read them constantly. And I get jealous of books and words, but then you make me forget, and you and I don't leave each other. So don't go home. I love you. Stay until I'm brave enough to tell you. And if I tell you, will you run? Will you walk away, hands on your head, fingers in your hair, horrified and looking sick? Or will you distract me with those fingers and hands and pretend I didn't say it? I love you. And if you don't love me yet, what _is_ this? And if you do, why not tell me? Oh, if you do and you're keeping it a secret, I may never forgive you, Edward Cullen. Because I've flown before in your arms, but I don't think I've soared. And those words from you… Oh, those three stupid words too many people say too often and too early but never enough… I want to say those to you. Please. Please. Please. Do something right now to show me that would be okay.

"We're going back."

"Huh?"

He doesn't say anything, so I scratch his chest and say his name.

"Wait."

Okay, I'll wait.

He jumps off, leaving me cold and naked on the bed. He picks up his boxers and puts them on. Then his hoodie, everything he was wearing under it left lying on the floor. He looks around, frantic, scratching his head and clutching his neck, and I pull him to me. He jumps.

"Wait for what?" I ask him.

He takes a bunch of deep breaths and looks at me with the saddest eyes. Scared, terrified, awful eyes.

"I'm sorry. My mom… that guy with the house… he's broke now. She… she got another job, and we're going back."

_Sick. Sick. Sick. Sick. Sick._

"What? When?"

"I'm so sorry," he says.

_Breathe._

He drops himself onto my bed, sits with his head in his hands. "Tuesday. But tonight's our last night in Forks. I found out… I knew it was a possibility… but Wednesday night, I knew for sure… my dad's staying on for another week, but…"

"Tonight? You're leaving… tomorrow?"

"I'm sorry."

"You're going back to New York?"

"I'm sorry."

"You didn't tell me when you found out?"

"I'm sorry."

"Rosalie didn't tell me…?"

"I asked her… I'm sorry."

"Why?" I ask.

You need to say these things, you stupid boy. But thank you for not taking away the sweetest days. And fuck you for coming here at all. And let me tell you how we're always together, let me show you that you belong here. And just speak. Give me one reason to take this next breath.

"If you had a few days left with the best thing you've… with the best… you wouldn't fuck it up, either."

"You fucked this up, Edward."

"I'm sorry."

"So, you're done? We're done?"

"No… I'm just… No. I don't know."

"Edward, I—"

"Don't freak out. Please. I don't know—"

"Well, _I _know."

"You've always known," he tells me.

"Stop not making sense!" I cry.

"You've never made any sense," he whispers.

"What am I…"

"I'm seventeen," he says. "I can't just stay because a girl makes me smile and makes me feel good. I mean… I'm seventeen. I wish I could stay. I can't. They're leaving. Then there's college. I… I don't know. I keep thinking about this, but… What am I supposed to do?"

Stop stealing my questions and asking them yourself. What am _I _supposed to do? Am I supposed to tell you about my dreams? That I'll follow you to college and anywhere else? Am I supposed to sit and wait? Am I supposed to believe that you'll come back to me one day?

"Go."

He looks up, and our eyes meet for the first time since right before he collapsed on top of me a few minutes ago.

"Go?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"Like, now?" He wants to know.

"Yes."

"No."

"Leave."

"Please."

I pull my covers over me and turn my back to him. I think he's gone, but a few minutes later his breath is right by my ear, and his lips are on my hair, and his hand is on my shoulder. My heart beats so fast in my chest. His breathing sounds off, and his hand trembles. My parents eventually come home, and ask me through my door why Edward is sitting in the back of my truck, in the dark. I watch him sit, shoulders hunched, until I'm yawning, because it's so late. I don't know why my dad comes into my room and tells me to go to the boy. I don't know why I pull on my jeans and do as my father says. I don't know why I can't cry. I don't know why I'm next to him three minutes later, letting him hold me under the stars. I don't know why there are so many stars and the sky is so clear, and I don't know why this makes me mad. I don't know who brought me up to my bed in the middle of the night, because I wake up under my covers, with the sun shining brightly through my window. I don't know who told Jane to be here, stroking my hair and biting her lip because she knows I know she's about to cry. I don't know when I started crying last night, but I did. And the only person who can answer that question is gone.

**Please share your thoughts. Especially now. I wrote a longer, crazier story last summer and while I got tons of reviews, ****your**** reviews are just so thoughtful and interesting. They make me think and I truly appreciate them. I just wanted to say thank you. You guys are so awesome.**


	15. This is so messed up

**Writeontime makes this readable, and calls me names when I forget to use punctuation. **

**I love ciaobella27 and spargelkun for allowing me to force them to read this. **

**I don't own Twilight. I own a Canadian version of the **_**Pirate Radio**_** DVD,**** and it's awesome.**

No one notices that they're gone. If they do, they don't say anything. No one looks at me with pity or sympathy. No one makes bitchy comments. It's business as usual, and Mike is sweet, and Peter and Seth check me out, but glare at me when our eyes meet, and Kate annoys me—just like she did before Edward showed up, and just like she always will. Jane is quiet, Jasper talks a lot. Emmett is laughing with his buddies. Maybe he's sad that Rosalie left, but if he is, he's definitely not showing it. He barely knew her. They weren't even dating. Edward told me when I asked last night that Rosalie went out with a couple of guys since they moved here. Apparently, she and Emmett were never more than friends. I don't believe that, or maybe I didn't believe that before I was told that he's leaving. Since that moment, I can't say I've cared about anything. Less than twelve hours ago, I stopped caring. Right now, I'm trying to pay attention to Ms. Denali, who says nothing about the two students missing from her class. I stare straight ahead. If I turn to my right, and see the empty seat, I will… I will…

What will I do?

Will I cry? Break down? Feel like I can't breathe? Because last night, for a few minutes, I thought I'd never be able to take another breath. But that's bullshit. You can still breathe. You don't even think about it. It just happens. You breathe, and everyone around you breathes—he definitely continues to breathe. You hear every breath he takes because his face is so close to yours. His breath is all over your skin, and you want to keep it there. But he leaves. People always leave. When Aunt Liz left, she broke Sam's heart. And Sam had all these girlfriends, but he'd always talk about the day Aunt Liz left and moved to Phoenix. And everyone would be quiet and look away, because they felt so sorry for Sam. And just when things couldn't get any worse, Sam left. He went to bring her back, but Aunt Liz sent him away. He never returned to Forks—we never saw him again. He didn't come back for his dad's funeral, and everyone whispered about Aunt Liz, and Seth said mean things, and I was furious. Because Aunt Liz is sweet, and she loves me, and I wish I'd told her about Edward, but she's far away. And when someone's that far away, what's the point of telling them anything? Are they really listening to you on the phone? Are they really thinking about what they're typing when they respond to your emails? Are you a real part of their lives, or do they just act like you are? Just like you act like they're a part of your life, but then days can go by and you don't remember them, because they're far away. And you love them, that doesn't change, but they don't share your everyday with you. It's never the same.

So he left. And before he left, he said things. He spoke in whispers, he shouted, he held on too tight, and then let go too fast, and if people ever ask me about Edward Cullen, that's all I'll be able to tell them.

He held on too tight and let go too fast.

I sat like an idiot in the cold. It was dark, and I couldn't see his face, but I sat like an idiot in the cold, on his lap, and held him with my legs as he said words, and asked questions, and begged for answers, and came up with them himself.

He didn't not love me. He liked me so, so much, and told me this so many times. He liked me, but he loved my voice, and loved my eyes, and loved my laugh, and my legs, and my insides. I told him that made no sense, and he just repeated it over and over again until he decided that he did love me. Loved me so much he'd stay in Forks. On the street, presumably, because he had nowhere else to stay. He'd stay, and we'd be together, and he'd convince his parents that the girl they never met and barely even heard of was worth not returning home with them. He always wanted to go to NYU or Dartmouth, if he got in, but he could go to school in Washington. Or California. He'd find a job. He'd be with me. And I sat and listened. And I sat and kept silent, and didn't yell at him and tell him to be stupid. I sat and followed his logic until he ended up right where he was at the beginning.

It wouldn't work out. Where would he live, and how would he pay for things like socks, and rent, and baseball tickets, and college? He'd have to go back, and I'd join him after graduation, and he'd take me with him to NYU or Dartmouth, if he got in. I'd get in too, but I never applied, so maybe I'd get in later, or go to another school, and either way it would be awesome because he doesn't want to be anywhere I'm not, and we'd be together, and Bella, come on, think about it? Think about coming, or think about me staying, or maybe don't, because it won't ever work. And he sat, and his face was damp, and I kissed it, and told him to stop being stupid, and promised it would be okay. Then he sucked on my neck and my chest and my nipples until they hurt, and I reminded him that everything he did could be seen from the windows of my house, and the neighbor's house, so he stopped. And I wanted him to hurt my nipples again, but instead he just held me and stopped speaking. And I stopped speaking. And there were a million things to discuss, and ask, and answer, but I fell asleep, and woke up, and came to school. And all I had from him was a sweatshirt and a hat and more sweet words crammed into a few hours spent outside on a cold night than most lovers share over many, many years.

"Bella."

I look up from the book in front of me and there's Jane. She's always there. She's always here. And now we're going to class, and then class is over, and I'm eating, but not really. And Jasper is speaking, but not really. And my phone rings and I read his name, but when I answer all I get is silence on the other end.

I sniffle, because that's the only noise I can make.

"_Bella?"_ he asks. His voice cracks and I sniffle back, letting him know I'm here.

"_I miss you," _he tells me.

"Hey."

"_Is this okay? Can I call you?"_

"I guess."

"_I miss you,"_ he says again.

"Yeah."

Yeah. I miss you too. I miss you. And you telling me you miss me—it's cruel. Because you said one day that you never missed the girl you dated for over three years. But you miss me. And that's not fair, because you're going back to where she is, and while you told me last night that you'd never go back to her after having met me, would I blame you if you did? I love you, Edward Cullen. I love you so much that I want you to be seventeen and happy—with pretty girls who make you smile, not pretty girls who live far away. I want you to live and not carry me in every thought and every step. I want you to know that I'm the love of your life, but I want you to forget me the next time a girl takes off her top and flashes you a smile. You can miss me until that second, but then just move on. I'll carry you everywhere with me, but you don't need to know that. You should fly. And when you're back down on the ground one day, and we meet again, maybe you'll remember, and I can fly with you. Or we can just walk, holding hands. But for now… just go.

"_Bella?"_

"Yeah?"

"_If you don't want me to call you…"_

"I have class in five."

"_Right. Yeah, okay."_

"Um, 'kay, bye."

He swallows, but can't say the stupid word, so I hang up. Then I turn off my phone.

"Your face is shaking," Jasper tells me.

"Huh?"

"It's shaking. Like your chin. Are you gonna cry?"

"You're such an idiot," Jane hisses, before turning to me. "Come on. I'll drop you off at your class."

I stand up and take my things. Mike Newton is sitting across from us and our eyes meet, and I receive my first sympathetic look of the day.

"The next time I look like I'm about to cry, please just throw my phone on something hard. I need a new one anyway."

"Did you ask him not to call?" Jane asks.

I shake my head. "We didn't talk about that. But… what's the point?"

"The point is you keep in touch," she tells me, looking at me like it's the most obvious thing ever. "I mean, I know it's only October, but time flies by senior year. Everyone says so. Y-you can… you can meet up with him over winter break, or spring break or…or… after graduation. Summer and maybe… be with him after. I don't know, Bella. I don't—"

"Stop. I have to get through this class now."

Jane nods. I get through the class, even though he's not there. I get through gym. I get through the drive home. I get through the interrogation I face at the hands of my mother. I get through homework and bad television I have to endure because, "It's funny and you need to smile."

I smile twice, and my mother beams at me because she was right: it was funny and I smiled. Except it was not funny. And I only smiled because I didn't want her upset.

At nine o'clock, I say goodnight and go up to my room. I check my email and cringe when I see the number of emails I've ignored over the last few weeks. Mostly junk, a few from Aunt Liz, schools reminding me of deadlines—both upcoming and past, Facebook reminding me that people want to be my friend. And it turns out that three weeks ago, he wanted to be my friend. I click on a link and see his page. It reveals nothing I don't know. He likes _Dexter_, baseball, and Jon Stewart. He's friends with too many people, most recently with a few guys, and girls named Allison and Jessica. And I don't know why this makes me sick, but it does, and I know it's stupid and irrational, but I can't help it. I hit ignore and there goes his request to be my friend.

I wish you could provide a reason.

"I can't be your friend because I want to be your life."

I want to say it's all or nothing, and don't go, and please stay and run away with me, and kiss me until I beg you to fuck me, and fuck me until we open our eyes and realize that's so not what we're doing. And keep doing it anyway because it feels so very good, and then lie here next to me, and grow up with me, and love me when I'm grown up just like you love me now.

"Bella?"

I look up and try to smile. "Hi Daddy."

"You alright?"

I nod, shrugging my shoulders. He walks in and sits on the edge of my bed, his elbows resting on his thighs. He runs his hands through his hair, and I know he's nervous. He isn't much of a talker, and this is probably awkward for him. I want to tell him it's okay, that he doesn't have to be here. I'm fine.

"I'm sorry this had to happen to you, kiddo, but it's going to be okay."

"Yeah." I'm back to sniffling and making weird jerky movements with my head.

"Come sit here," he says, patting the empty spot next to him with his hand, like he would when I was a kid and he wanted to have me close by to explain something important—like how to behave in front of adults, or how to be nice to classmates, or how to be quiet when my mom complained of headaches. I walk over from my seat at the computer and sit next to him.

He places a hand on my shoulder before dropping it and taking a deep breath.

"Daddy, I'm fine—"

"I know you are," he says. "And I think I know why," he adds.

"W-what—"

"Edward's pretty important to you, isn't he?"

"Yeah, I… I really like him. Yeah."

I hide my face from my dad because I'm very red. So stupid. Like he didn't know already…

"I know he's important to you. That's how I felt about your mother when I met her. Still do. She was every dream of mine come true."

"Yeah," I say, ignoring how I feel slightly uncomfortable talking to him about this.

"And you know how it went," he continues. "We were married, and you came in no time, and I'll never regret any of that. You are my life, Bella. Your mother's, too. If I had the means, I'd make that boy stay with you, because I'd do anything to keep you smiling all the time. But I know—and you've got to trust me on this—I know it's gonna be okay."

"I thought so, too…"

But now it doesn't matter what I thought, or what I think.

"But he left," I say.

My dad takes a deep breath, and this time I place my arm on his shoulder, because he looks tired, and older, and a little sad.

"Did you enjoy your time with him while he was here?" he asks me. "Were you happy?"

"Yeah… Like you said with mom, he was like every dream come true."

Or he became that. Or maybe I was having the wrong dreams. Maybe my dream come true was Edward, and not Hat Guy. Maybe my dream come true was having the boy. The excitement. The euphoria. The thrill. Maybe those things are better than anything Hat Guy ever gives me in my dreams. Hat Guy loves me, adores me, cares for me. Edward made me live, and sing, and scream… he made me feel, and be—and nothing will feel that way again.

"Some people never get that," my father tells me.

"But it wasn't enough. It was supposed to be more."

More of the feeling, and being, and singing, and more of the thrills. More of everything, and forever and ever. More of what Edward gave me, as well as new things I can't define. Things I know we feel and give each other in my dreams. I want to grab future Bella with the ugly hair and ask her what these things are, and why we're not always happy, but still together and never apart, and why I want everything anyway. Does that future Bella even exist? Or has she been replaced with another future Bella—maybe one with prettier hair but no pretty boy with beautiful eyes and long fingers.

"Do you trust your old man?"

"Of course."

"You'll have more. If you thought that kid was a dream come true…" He laughs and shakes his head.

I'm mad at my dad. Angry because he thinks "that kid" is anything short of wonderful. Angry at myself for hating Edward every time he did something Hat Guy wouldn't do.

"I…I want him. He… said he loves me… but I don't know if… It hurts to talk to him now. And he's going so far away. And he _was_… I mean, he _wasn't_ what I thought I wanted, but he was something else, and so good, and now… I don't want to know… I mean, I know it sounds stupid, but I don't want to know him when he's not with me."

"You want to un-know him?" my father asks, a half-smile on his face.

"No!" I furiously shake my head. "I just…I don't want to forget anything, and then I want him again, but until then—"

His expression is serious again.

"Until then, you live your life. I have no doubt that you'll be happy. Happier than you've been even these past couple of weeks. Life isn't always pretty. Your mother made me the happiest man in Washington, maybe the world, but for years it was a struggle. Sometimes I didn't know how to come home because I couldn't come up with the money to buy our baby her diapers. You'll never have to face that kind of hardship, because your mother and I would never let that happen, but your life's not always going to be easy. This isn't the last time you're going to be disappointed. You'll cry again. You'll hurt again. I won't lie and tell you that a few months from now you'll be reunited with Edward and everything will fall into place. I don't know if that's the case, but I will tell you that—"

"Charlie! It's the station!" We hear my mother cry from downstairs.

He's immediately off my bed and by the door, looking extremely relieved.

"Get some sleep, Bella. I'll be right here if you have those bad dreams again."

I don't want those bad dreams. I don't want the good ones, either. I want him like I know him. I want my flawed, impatient, skinny boy with a temper. I want his mouth and hands, and I want his words. Stinging and painful half the time, but always right, and always real. Hat Guy can suck it. I want Edward.

"Be safe, Daddy," I mumble.

"Always am."

Sometimes I think my father is completely batshit crazy. Sometimes I think my mother agrees with me. But he's the most rational, sensible, normal guy you'll ever meet, as well as the kindest—even if his attempts at making me feel better result in me being at the receiving end of the most depressing speeches in history. He confuses me, and sometimes I think maybe he has a sixth sense or something. But then I laugh, because if I said that to anyone about Charlie Swan, they'd call me crazy and joke about what a silly thing Bella said for weeks or months, because there's nothing much to joke about here, and I'm so cute and funny, saying silly things like that about my dad.

I get ready for bed and grab my phone from the bottom of my bag. I turn it on and half expect twenty texts and missed calls, all of them from Edward, but all I have is a single voicemail.

What if this is the last one? What if I hit this button and listen to the last thing Edward's voice will ever say to me? Or what if his voice makes me call him back? And we talk and talk, and live together even while we're apart, and meet in an airport in a few months. And I'll jump into his arms, hoping I don't knock him over, and he'll catch me and that will be the end of the story, or the beginning, or something. I don't know… I don't know. And not knowing is terrible right now, because I really want to hear his voice—but what if I hate the words he's left for me on this stupid phone?

"_Bella, it's me. I don't know if you want to talk, it seemed like you didn't, earlier. That's cool. I mean I get it. And I don't get it, because all I want to do is talk to you. But if you don't want to go through all that shit, it's fine. I told you everything I had to say last night. I—I… I miss you, Bella. This is so messed up_."

This is so messed up.

It is. It's so messed up.

He coughs into the phone and hangs up. And he's gone again. And of course I cry. And I know they leave first thing in the morning, so I text him, then I turn off my phone again. Then I turn it back on and text Jane to tell her to take my phone away from me forever. Then it's back off and I'm left to think about what I wrote until I fall asleep. Not much… Just that I miss him. Maybe I should have said more. Maybe I should have addressed the things he mentioned in the voicemail he left. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Whatever. He's gone.

XxXxX

Jane is here and I have to get up. My head hurts, and my eyes hurt, and my face is gross and damp again. Why, why, why.

Because Edward left, and your life sucks now.

Right, that. So then can't everyone just fuck off and leave me alone?

"Bella," Jane says.

Apparently not. I blink a few times and finally open my eyes.

"Your phone. He…"

She hands me my phone, and the way my heart beats quickly with excitement and hope sickens me. I read the words he's texted, and look up at Jane because I know she's read them already. She opens her mouth to say something, but I shake my head and she sits back, her head hanging. "Fine, I won't tell you what I think," she mutters. I read the words again and my chin begins to do that annoying thing. Quivering? Is that what it's doing? I place my phone back in her hand, looking into her blue, blue eyes.

"Just take it."

Jane jumps off my bed and it's very drafty when she opens my window and leans out of it. When she comes back, her hands are empty.

"Thanks."

"It hit a tree."

"Good."

"I still think you should—"

"I can't."

Jane nods. We lie in silence and I think about my decision. I think about being with him and then not being with him. I think about being his friend, and chatting with him, and texting him, and accepting requests on Facebook. I think about every single time my heart will break because he's not here, not with me. Every single time he'll become "friends with" a girl whose name I don't recognize—and I won't recognize any names because I'm not a part of his life—and each time, I'll wonder, and I'll think. And I'll see his face when he said my name and shuddered on top of me, and I'll wonder if he's on top of Allison Scheinbaum now, saying her name and looking beautiful with his hands resting on a bed far, far away, and coming, and holding and... I can't do that. I can't wonder and think and I can't tell him, "Don't touch any girls until one day, maybe, we're together again." I can't tell him, "Call NYU and Dartmouth and say you're no longer interested, because there's a girl in a town far away, and I really like her, I think I love her, and I'll go to Washington and sit with her and play with her hair, because there's nothing else I'd rather do." I can't ask him to follow me as I follow Jane all the way to California, or even just Seattle. I can't follow him to big schools. I can't visit him with tickets he sends and have him over and over again, just to then have to return him to the world because I'm not enough. And I'm not. Not now. Not enough to throw away a future and a life. And how did he become the romantic here? How did he become the one willing to do anything for a girl he barely glanced at until she threw herself at him one morning in English class? How do I hold on to something I'm not meant to hold on to? I can't. And now that I've decided to let go completely, how do I live with the guilt of having made that decision for the both of us? Knowing that he may be sad, waiting for me to respond, or pick up the phone… I'll tell myself it's because I want him to be happy and to live, and while that's the truth, I can't deny that I'm being selfish. And he'll see that. And if I didn't know him better, I'd expect him to call me out on it. But I think he knew the minute he told me. It's over.

I'll be the girl who got away. And maybe one day, we'll meet again. Maybe my father is right, and I'll get more. Maybe my dreams will all come true. Or maybe all I'll have is the memory of the most beautiful boy I've ever met, holding me on a beach and memorizing me as I lay on his messy bed. And I'll look back at that and smile. And if he truly memorized me, he'll think back and remember. And either way, I loved him, and he said he loved me, and I'll never forget the words I just read that are lost on a broken phone my friend threw at a tree that has been standing outside my window since before I can remember. I'll remember them, and repeat them in my head over and over again, because they're so true. And even if they lose their meaning for him, I'm positive they never will for me.

_I wouldn't want to be faster _

_or greener than now if you were with me O you _

_were the best of all my days _

**You guys are the most incredible group of readers. I can't thank you enough for reading, reviewing, pimping. I'm sending you some Edward stuff whether you like it or not (not to the three of you who yelled at me when I did—sorry!) this time. Nothing crazy—just his thoughts from the first time he tried to tell Bella he's returning to New York. **

**I hate sad times. Those of you who know me know that this sad tone won't define the story. It's temporary. **

**Added 4/28: Since some of you asked... The last three lines of the chapter are from the text Edward sent her. And no, Edward didn't write them himself - they're from one of my favorite poems - _Animals_, by Frank O'Hara.**


	16. Subject: Time flies

**Okay. Hi. **

**This entire chapter consists of emails sent between Bella and Jane. There are a few things to keep in mind here:**

**Read the dates. Otherwise, you'll be lost. You REALLY want to be aware of the dates.**

**Read the subject lines of the emails. **

**Some of you will probably hate this. Most of you will complain about it. I considered skipping this chapter altogether and just doing a massive time jump. Let me know if you think that would have been a better idea. Or don't. **

**My beta made this pretty. She is wonderful. She's gorgeous. She's really smart and funny. Ciaobella27 read this and told me not to delete it. She lights up my days with her emails and chats. **

**XxXxX  
**

from Isabella Swan

to Jane Whitlock .com

date **August 7, 2010 at 9:23 AM**

subject Holy Shit!

Jasper looks good! I'm glad you guys are having a good time. I miss you. :(

He was back last night. I hadn't seen him since December. It was the usual, nothing happened.

Did you buy the bikini you wanted to buy? Send me pics.

xoxoxoxoxo

* * *

from Jane Whitlock .com

to Isabella Swan

date **August 8, 2010 at 10:21 PM**

subject re: Holy Shit!

I just saw this!

Are you ok?

Jasper saw him when we were in NYC. I didn't go. He said he's the same. He's going to school in Chicago, I think.

I attached pics. What do you think?

xo

* * *

from Isabella Swan

to Jane Whitlock .com

date **August 8, 2010 at 10:26 PM**

subject re: re: Holy Shit!

Did I ask you where he's going to school?

It looks fine.

XxXxX

from Isabella Swan

to Jane Whitlock .com

date **October 3, 2010 at 2:21 AM**

subject DON'T READ THIS EMAIL

I slept with Riley.

I mean, I wasn't going to, but then I did.

It was good. Everything felt good. He says really dirty things and I like that a lot. Then he wanted to stay over, but I kicked him out.

Why am I writing this to you?

I think he thinks we're dating. Maybe we are. Like, when I saw him over the summer and we realized we're going to be living in the same city, I thought it would be cool to hang out. And I love hanging out with him. I know you hate him.

I think I hate him too.

He's not him.

In ways he's better than him. Sometimes, Edward would just pound into me and go on and on, and I'd have to move a certain way under him to make it feel better. And then he'd get it and he'd do what I wanted. But being in his arms, and feeling his breath on my skin, and his mouth on my neck... I wanted to crawl into him and be a part of him, and I could tell he wanted to do the same to me. And then we'd hang onto each other after, not letting go, and I never wanted to let go... He'd hold me so tight, and I'd wrap myself around him, and it was so good. Now I'm crying like an idiot. Why did I just let him go, Janey? I'd give up every pleasurable thing I have ever experienced, anything I could ever experience, just to feel his skin, just once.

And like, Riley, he's good at it. Like I swear, I saw the sun and moon and stars and planets and fireworks, and then almost passed out when he did these_ things_. Omg. Like Edward and I always had the same kind of sex. It just felt right. We held onto each other and he'd be on top, then me, and we'd move and roll and kiss. We just had to kiss the entire time, so yeah, we never did anything different or original, like it never crossed my mind, because it was so amazing just being with him.

Riley?

DUDE. I was on my KNEES at one point. Like on all fours.

It felt REALLY good.

Best. Thing. Ever.

And now I feel bad, because I'm acting like it didn't feel good with Edward. It did. I mean it was better. Best. Better than anything I've ever felt. I had orgasm after orgasm and I lost count after a while. But there was always something almost sad about each time. Or it was like we were fighting each other, or ourselves. The sweetness made it sad. Or maybe it's all in my head and he was just having sex with a girl whose legs he really liked. I don't know.

I wonder who he's having sex with now.

If you know the answer to that, please don't tell me.

* * *

from Isabella Swan

to Jane Whitlock .com

date **October 3, 2010 at 11:21 AM**

subject you can read this one

where are you?

XxXxX

from Jane Whitlock .com

to Isabella Swan

date **November 27, 2010 at 9:01 AM**

subject 

8 missed calls and you don't pick up your phone when I call. What's wrong?

* * *

from Isabella Swan

to Jane Whitlock .com

date **November 27, 2010 at 9:29 AM**

subject re:

Nothing.

I had another one.

It was the first happy one I've had since we started dating. I was sitting at a table, like a kitchen table, and he walked in and put his keys down on the counter. I was writing something, not even looking at him, and he sat across from me and we talked. We laughed a lot. He's so different than he was in Forks. I mean, I don't know what's different, exactly, but he's grown up. I don't know. It was so nice. I got up and brought some cheese over from the fridge, and we ate it. Then he kissed me.

Jane, I miss him. It's been over a year. I miss him today. Maybe it's being back here, in this stupid bed, this stupid house. I'm not coming back for Christmas.

So then I woke up, and remembered last night. Did we really make out? I was trashed. Sorry if I made you do anything that made you feel uncomfortable. This is why I hate Forks. It brings out the worst in me.

* * *

from Jane Whitlock .com

to Isabella Swan

date **November 27, 2010 at 10:02 AM**

subject re: re: 

pick up your phone. yeah, I think we made out. I blame Seth.

Ditto. I don't wanna come back. Last night was bad.

* * *

from Isabella Swan

to Jane Whitlock .com

date **November 27, 2010 at 10:07 AM**

subject why was last night bad?!?!?!!?!?

Mom's here. I can't talk about any of this with her around. She hovers.

What happened last night? (apart from us making out)

* * *

from Jane Whitlock .com

to Isabella Swan

date **November 27, 2010 at 10:12 AM**

subject I had sex…

… with seth's cousin.

Bella, ick.

* * *

from Isabella Swan

to Jane Whitlock .com

date **November 27, 2010 at 10:14 AM**

subject you WHAT

JANE WHY ARE YOU ONLY TELLING ME THIS NOW

p.s. he's hot, I'd do him

* * *

from Jane Whitlock .com

to Isabella Swan

date **November 27, 2010 at 10:18 AM**

subject …

he was ok. I realized it had to happen sometime, and I'll probably never see him again. I think you've been lying to me.

p.s. you'd do anything with a penis

* * *

from Isabella Swan

to Jane Whitlock .com

date **November 27, 2010 at 10:22 AM**

subject was it big?

TELL ME MORE

Or don't. I'm calling you.

p.s. stop calling me a whore

XxXxX

from Isabella Swan

to Jane Whitlock .com

date **July 5, 2011 at 12:31 PM**

subject I'm sorry

I didn't know you were here!

I'll tell him to leave.

* * *

from Jane Whitlock .com

to Isabella Swan

date **July 5, 2011 at 5:37 PM**

subject re: I'm sorry

Just saw this. Next time, call or text if there's anything important you'd like to tell me.

* * *

from Isabella Swan

to Jane Whitlock .com

date **July 5, 2011 at 9:24 PM**

subject re: re: I'm sorry

Um, really? I called and texted a dozen times.

He

Is

My

Boyfriend

Staying with you all summer isn't going to work if you can't deal with the fact that Riley is going to be around. What has he done to you?

* * *

from Jane Whitlock .com

to Isabella Swan

date **July 6, 2011 at 10:12 AM**

subject 

I'm sorry for ruining your long weekend and your celebration of our nation's independence with your REALLY LOUD boyfriend.

The house is all yours next week. I'm staying with Jasper in Seattle. He just got back from NY. Edward's an artist with a long beard now. his hair is always dirty. I can't imagine it being any dirtier than it was when he lived here, but then again, I knew him for what? 3 weeks? Yeah, sounds about right. His girlfriend has tattoos everywhere, and she's older. Jasper really liked her.

* * *

from Isabella Swan

to Jane Whitlock .com

date **July 6, 2011 at 10:23 AM**

subject no thanks

Find someone else to housesit for you.

You sad, bitter little girl.

I'm going on a road trip with Riley.

XxXxX

from Jane Whitlock .com

to Isabella Swan

date **Sept 13, 2011 at 12:01 AM**

subject Happy Birthday

I miss you.

I'm sorry.

XxXxX

from Isabella Swan

to Jane Whitlock .com

date **May 3, 2012 at 8:20 AM**

subject 

He broke up with me

* * *

from Jane Whitlock .com

to Isabella Swan

date **May 3, 2012 at 10:23 AM**

subject re:

What?!?!?!!?!??!?!

I was taking a final, sorry I missed your call. Are you ok?

Where are you?

* * *

from Isabella Swan

to Jane Whitlock .com

date **May 3, 2012 at 10:25 AM**

subject bring ice cream

I'm home. We'll study together.

I'm gonna miss his penis.

It was so nice to me.

* * *

from Jane Whitlock .com

to Isabella Swan

date **May 3, 2012 at 10:28 AM**

subject I don't have a penis, but I'll make out with you

No ice cream, but I have some sorbet.

What happened?

* * *

from Isabella Swan

to Jane Whitlock .com

date **May 3, 2012 at 10:32 AM**

subject ok, can we get to 3rd base? 

He said I'm not in love with him. I didn't do anything to convince him/prove otherwise.

(I don't even know what 3rd base means)

(ice cream!!!!!!!)

XxXxX

from Isabella Swan

to Jane Whitlock .com

date **January 3, 2013 at 6:21 AM**

subject I haven't had sex in 8 months.

Come over. I think I'm still drunk.

* * *

from Jane Whitlock .com

to Isabella Swan

date **January 3, 2013 at 8:32 AM**

subject I'm not having sex with you

Ok. Me too.

* * *

from Isabella Swan

to Jane Whitlock .com

date **January 3, 2013 at 8:44 AM**

subject why? You know you want to

I'll even go down on you. I swear.

* * *

from Jane Whitlock .com

to Isabella Swan

date **January 3, 2013 at 8:46 AM**

subject you're so vain…

You wouldn't even know what you're doing.

* * *

from Isabella Swan

to Jane Whitlock .com

date **January 3, 2013 at 8:54 AM**

subject I do think this song is about me. Yes. 

And you'd be able to tell the difference? I'm a giver, Whitlock. Ask your brother. He loved my mouth.

comeeeeeee

* * *

from Jane Whitlock .com

to Isabella Swan

date **January 3, 2013 at 8:58 AM**

subject re: I do think this song is about me. Yes.

Fine, I'm coming. Jasper told me to tell you we're spending the summer together in NYC.

* * *

from Isabella Swan

to Jane Whitlock .com

date **January 3, 2013 at 9:03 AM**

subject can we scissor like they do in porn?

I hear NYC is lovely in the summertime.

* * *

from Jane Whitlock .com

to Isabella Swan

date **January 3, 2013 at 9:11 AM**

subject insensitive jerk

I hear it is, too. We'll sleep on his floor.

* * *

from Isabella Swan

to Jane Whitlock .com

date **January 3, 2013 at 9:13 AM**

subject what'd I do?

Hurry up and come. I'm going to go downstairs and have that pervy dad have sex with me if you're not here by 10.

* * *

from Jane Whitlock .com

to Isabella Swan

date **January 3, 2013 at 9:16 AM**

subject never telling you a secret ever again

I'm on my way. Pervy dad is hot. His wife is hotter.

* * *

from Isabella Swan

to Jane Whitlock .com

date **January 3, 2013 at 9:22 AM**

subject I'm sorry :( I'll stop

I love you, Janey. I'll stop being an ass. I didn't know you felt that way in high school. I'm glad you told me, though.

I still find it a little funny.

I'm being an ass again.

Come to meeeeee. I'm bored and hung over.

p.s. Edward thought you liked me, I told him he was crazy

* * *

from Jane Whitlock .com

to Isabella Swan

date **January 3, 2013 at 9:31 AM**

subject Edward wasn't the only one

I'll be right over, Swan.

XxXxX

from Bella Swan .com

to Jane Whitlock .com

date **July 28, 2013 at 8:22 PM**

subject I'm nervous

What if he doesn't want to see me?

* * *

from Jane Whitlock .com

to Bella Swan .com

date **July 28, 2013 at 8:31 PM**

subject I'm calling you

pick up

* * *

from Isabella Swan .com

to Jane Whitlock .com

date **July 28, 2013 at 9:54 PM**

subject 

Sorry. I was upset and had to hang up. I think it's better this way. Being there, with him there… I mean I couldn't face him.

I know it's been over three years, but I miss him. I mean, you know how often I've been seeing him lately. It's every night. Jane, tell me, does he look like he did in the pictures? Does he look like Hat Guy? Who is he? What does he do? Why haven't I been asking these questions all these years?

Barcelona? Really? He wants to go to Barcelona? I knew there was a chance he wouldn't want to see me in NY, but I just really, really, really wanted to see him.

Did Jasper really say he thinks this is about me?

Why, though? Is he mad at me? Has he said anything to Jasper? It's been years.

I don't even want to come out to NY anymore.

* * *

from Jane Whitlock .com

to Bella Swan .com

date **July 28, 2013 at 10:12 PM**

subject re:

I know you miss him.

I'm going to tell you what I know.

He does look like he did in the pictures. He's bigger. He doesn't wear hats, though. He talks a lot, he's more friendly. He loves architecture and art, but isn't sure what he wants to do once he graduates. I've only seen him once so far.

Jasper said he hadn't heard about any plans to go to Barcelona until he mentioned you being in NY. He hadn't mentioned Barcelona before that, ever. But again, they're not that close.

I asked Jasper if you ever come up in conversation… they've never talked about you. Like, ever.

I don't know, Bella. I think you should come. I'm going to miss you when I'm in Paris next year.

* * *

from Isabella Swan .com

to Jane Whitlock .com

date **July 28, 2013 at 11:02 PM**

subject re: re:

I want to come to Paris with you.

XxXxX

from Jane Whitlock .com

to Bella Swan .com

date **February 8, 2014 at 1:12 AM**

subject re: COCKBLOCKER

You should be thanking me. That Alec guy is gross. He sounded like the skunk from the cartoons while you guys were having sex.

AND STOP LETTING FRENCH DUDES SHOWER IN OUR BATHROOM. THEY'RE HAIRY.

My dad and shewhomustnotbenamed will be here tomorrow. Wanna join us for dinner? I'm taking them to the Moroccan place by the studio.

Are you giving any tours today?

* * *

from Bella Swan .com

to Jane Whitlock .com

date **February 8, 2014 at 9:22 AM**

subject my French dudes aren't hairy. Your girlfriend needs to wax.

Yeah. THREE tours. On the top of a fucking bus. In the cold. Go Bella! Great decision to move out here with nothing to do and no money to spend!

XxXxX

from Bella Swan .com

to Jane Whitlock .com

date **September 7, 2014 at 11:33 PM**

subject too long 

The last time I saw him in my dreams, we were sitting outside, at some café, and he kept looking at me like he'd look at me right before we'd kiss. The same way he kept looking at me the night he left. Sometimes I just can't get that night out of my head, Jane. So in the dream, we left some money on the table and started walking down the street. I was wearing a coat, and he was wearing a jacket, and his hat of course. We were joking around, I reached up and snatched it off his head. He looked stupid, with his hair all messed up under the hat. I laughed and ran off with his hat. He ran after me, grabbed me, turned me around to face him, and he kissed me. But then I shoved him away and looked so upset. I don't know what happens after that. I woke up.

Have I told you about this dream? I don't remember, but I probably told you.

I make myself think about the colors, the clothes, our faces in that dream all the time.

Five years. And I can't let go of him. And over a year of no dreams, and I can't forget. There's been Riley, and those two douchebags in Paris, that British professor junior year, but I just want him.

Do you have any news? Where is he?

* * *

from Jane Whitlock .com

to Bella Swan .com

date **September 8, 2014 at 12:22 AM**

subject re: almost three years

Oh, Bella. It's being back in Washington, isn't it? You were so good in Paris. You didn't have nightmares, you never cried, no mention of Edward.

I don't have any news. I asked Jasper, he hasn't heard from him since last summer, but Facebook told him that Edward graduated in June.

Speaking of school—are you having a tough time getting back into the whole college thing?

* * *

from Bella Swan .com

to Jane Whitlock .com

date **September 8, 2014 at 7:21 AM**

subject re: re: almost three years

Of course he did. And I'm still in college. A full year behind. And I want to change my major, which means I'll be graduating THREE semesters after I should've graduated. Bella Swan is a loser. I'm almost 23. Gross.

Classes are ok. How's everything going with the show? Are you nervous?

I'm meeting some dude for coffee later. He's got the stupidest name. Felix Volturi. LOL

(but omg he's hot and he's hairy - just how I like them. you'd never approve)

XxXxX

from Jane Whitlock .com

to Bella Swan .com

date **February 21, 2015 at 4:32 PM**

subject Forks isn't the same without you

I ran into your dad today. He kept asking me about "Phil" - then I realized he was talking about Felix. Haha. He really likes him, huh?

I LIKE HIM TOO.

Which is the only thing that matters.

Anyway, guess who I ran into today? Shewhocannotbenamed with The Kid. The Kid's really cute, Bella. Like miniature me.

* * *

from Bella Swan .com

to Jane Whitlock .com

date **February 23, 2015 at 10:22 AM**

subject Rio is marvelous without you (kidding, miss you)

Missing classes is awesome, especially when you're in BRAZIL with your really hot older boyfriend, wearing tiny bikinis that cover nothing. Ooo, Jane, I look good.

At this rate, I'll never graduate…

Dad loved Felix. He was creepily overenthusiastic. But he told me not to settle down just yet. This is from the same guy who kept telling me I'd end up with Edward when I was contemplating jumping out my window senior year. I used to actually believe he saw things, like me.

Anyway, about shewhocannotbenamed and The Kid… you know my thoughts on that subject. You've had dinner with your dad what? Half a dozen times over the last 5 years? You even had dinner with SWCBN in Paris. The Kid isn't to blame here. You need to get to know her. I bet she's a miniature you. That means she's the cutest kid ever.

I miss you, Janey. I'll be back soon.

xoxo

XxXxX

from Bella Swan .com

to Jane Whitlock .com

date **June 22, 2015 at 2:22 AM**

subject Italy sucks

His family is so weird. I hate these people. And things are weird. He keeps talking about marrying me. Omg. Jane, come save me! You're only a few hours away. Fuck London! Come to meeee.

I had dream #9 tonight. It just woke me up. This was a sex dream. It was glorious. Edward's a man now… no longer a boy.

What does this mean, Jane?

* * *

from Jane Whitlock .com

to Bella Swan .com

date **June 22, 2015 at 9:34 AM**

subject I'm in Seattle

London? I left London over two weeks ago, Bella.

And can you call your parents? They're worried about you. I thought you were going to take summer classes and graduate already.

I don't have time to write out a more thoughtful reply to your email, but I will say this:

you are scared because you guys are moving too fast. The dreams are conveniently timed, aren't they? This isn't about Edward. It's about you being unhappy in your current situation. Come back to Seattle. Finish school. I miss you!

* * *

from Bella Swan .com

to Jane Whitlock .com

date **June 23, 2015 at 12:33 AM**

subject boo

Another one. Not a sex dream. I swear I can hear his voice now. His stupid smile in my dream makes my stomach flutter. Like right now. I'm thinking about his smile. Flutter. Flutter. Butterflies.

We're coming back in August. I registered for classes before I left. It'll be my last semester. Then I'll do absolutely nothing with my degree in romance languages and literature. And don't forget about my minor in philosophy.

Ha ha ha

I turn 24 this year. I'm not looking forward to it. I've got nothing to show for it.

Felix says hello.

XxXxX

from Jane Whitlock .com

to Bella Swan .com

date **September 11, 2015 at 9:01 AM**

subject food

Lunch today?

How's Felix? Is he coming to terms with you just being friends? Poor, sad puppy.

* * *

from Bella Swan .com

to Jane Whitlock .com

date **September 11, 2015 at 10:22 AM**

subject FOOD!

Lunch sounds good.

He'll be fine. He understands that I'm not ready. I'm just not… I know you think I'm crazy, but something feels off. I do love him, though. He's my bestest friend after you, Janey.

Actually, I'm going to a lame party that his friend Royce (LOL I know) is throwing for his lame girlfriend tonight. She just started her first year of law school and she sounds fascinating. Hah. You know I hate law students. Boringggg.

Anyway, I need to do something about my hair. It's all the way down to my ass. Come with me to get it trimmed?

* * *

from Jane Whitlock .com

to Bella Swan .com

date **September 11, 2015 at 10:26 AM**

subject FOOOOOOOOD

Remember when I wore a size 2 and ate nothing?

That sucked.

Let's go eat something really greasy today, k?

Lame party sounds lame. I'll go with you to get your hair trimmed.

XxXxX

**Okay, so yeah.**

**I REALLY NEED YOUR THOUGHTS ON THIS CHAPTER.**

**What pissed you off?**

**Did it make you sad? **

**Did you not give a sh*t? **

**Did you read any of this, or are you waiting for Edward to come back?**

**I love you guys for sharing your thoughts on Chapter 15 with me. I hope you enjoyed the little bit of Edward I sent you.**


	17. Hey, Bella

**Writeontime makes me seem less stupid than I actually am. Ciaobella27 stares at nice things with me, and talks to me all day. They both make sure my chapters make (some) sense. They're awesome.**

**I don't own Twilight.**

"Maybe some side-swept bangs? Long layers? I think it would even out your face," he suggests, a bored expression on his face.

"Bangs? What? No! I just want a trim," I tell him.

"They're not really bangs, per se. Here," he says, rapidly flipping through a magazine. He hands it over to me, pointing at a picture of an actress I don't quite recognize. Her hair is still pretty long, so I shrug and nod.

"Sure, whatever. Just make it a little shorter. Layers are fine. I don't care, as long as they're long."

I turn my attention back to Jane, who is eyeing me curiously.

"What?"

"Nothing," she says.

"No, what?"

"It's just… are you sure about this?"

"I don't care. Long layers. Layers are good. And the hair around her face looked pretty."

Jane raises an eyebrow and smiles.

"What's so amusing?" I ask.

"You. Always you."

Everyone who works here looks bored. The expression on the face of the girl who washes my hair depresses me. Her mouth is hanging slightly open, and every time I say something, she jumps and rubs her eyes with the back of her hands. She needs more sleep. Or something. Yeah, she definitely needs something.

When side-swept-bangs dude returns with a razor and scissors, I turn to look at Jane, who has her phone out, completely engrossed in whatever she's reading.

"Janey, what should I wear tonight?" I ask her.

"Where's the party?"

"I don't know."

"Well, find out," she tells me.

"Meh. I'd rather be surprised. I want to go out tonight, and if I hear that it's somewhere gross, or too expensive, or annoying, I'll end up staying in."

Jane laughs, shaking her head. She doesn't take her eyes off the screen of her BlackBerry.

"What are you reading?" I ask.

"Please don't move your head. It's very distracting," Bored Dude tells me, placing his fingers on both sides of my head, and forcing me to look straight ahead. I don't want to do this. I hate watching myself get a haircut.

"Sorry," I mumble.

He lets out an exaggerated sigh and continues to snip, snip, snip away.

"There's this program I want to apply to, in New York," Jane explains.

"Oh. Oh! Apply. Maybe we can go together!"

Jane runs her fingers through her hair before gathering it all up, and twisting it into a bun on the top of her head.

"Now _that_ is some gorgeous hair. I could really do something with _that _hair." Bored Dude sighs and shakes his head, his face marred by tragedy and sorrow. Poor guy, how difficult it must be for him to work on my mousey brown hair instead of Jane's golden tresses.

I watch him snip off a strand of hair that, I swear, is like, a foot long.

"Watch it! I said _long_ layers!" I cry out.

He ignores me completely, and with a shake of his head, he continues to pull on and cut off random stands of hair.

"I _will_ apply," Jane says, taking my attention away from this asshole who's one comment away from getting stabbed by me with the scissors he's holding. "Applying to things is something you do when you plan on making changes in your life. For instance, if you want to move to New York City, you find programs to apply to. Maybe even a job."

"Are you trying to tell me something, Jane?"

"You need to think things through, Bella."

"I have!"

"Okay. You fly out to New York after you graduate. Where do you stay?" she asks.

"In an apartment."

"Ha. Ha."

"What?"

"Come on, Bella. What apartment? With whom? How are you paying for this apartment?" she wants to know.

"Felix said he'd help me find something…"

"You're kidding, right?"

No…

I shrug. "Why not? I mean, he's a good friend. He knows lots of people there."

"Bella, you've never actually _been_ to New York. What if you hate it?" Jane asks.

"I need to make changes in my life."

Stay calm, Bella. This is your daily conversation with Jane. She's not going to let it go. Tell her you're sending out those applications she filled out for you, and smile.

"Make them here, in Seattle. Or make then back in Forks, while you figure out what your next step is."

"Jane, I'm not going back to Forks. Not on Sunday for my twenty-fourth birthday. Not for Thanksgiving. Not even for Christmas. I hate that piece of shit town. I hate that stupid house. I can't stand my—"

"Will you please sit still?" Bored Dude shouts.

"Relax, man. It's not the end of the world! Not like you actually have a method to what you're doing. You could randomly snip off the ends of my hair while I dance around this room, and something tells me the end result won't be too different."

"Bella!"

I look up and see Jane's very red face. I feel bad immediately, and quietly apologize to the asshole who's making this the most miserable experience of my life.

"Bella, I think your parents miss you. I know you talk to them several times a week, and that they'll end up coming here for the holidays if you don't end up going home, but just consider not being selfish, this one time. This has been a difficult year for—"

"And it wasn't difficult for me?" I ask, cutting her off.

"Bella, you're their only—"

"Jane, don't."

"No, Bella. I'm sorry, but this needs to be said. It's been almost two months since your dad's heart attack, and you haven't been back once. It's not right. You owe them—"

"I practically _ran _back from Italy when I heard. I spent almost a month there, and it was the most miserable month of my life. He's fine. He's healthier than he's ever been. He's fishing again, and he tells me to stay in Seattle, where I'm happy. I hate Forks. You have _no _idea…"

"When did this even start? I know our last year in Forks was bad. I was there. I know it sucked. But you went back the next summer, and you enjoyed yourself. We had a great summer. Yeah, your boyfriend was annoying, but by the end we all agreed that it was one of the best summers of our lives. How did we get from that to "I hate Forks?" I just don't get where this is coming from."

"It's depressing," I explain. "There's nothing to do."

"So spending two short days, one stupid weekend, with your parents would kill you."

"Yes, it would. I _can't _anymore."

"You're just miserable," she tells me.

"Why thank you, Jane. You're right. I'm you, before you decided life is awesome. If I remember correctly, though, when you were miserable, and one awkward, uncomfortable moment away from killing yourself, I didn't make you feel like a useless piece of—"

"I was a kid. Sure, I wasn't a ray of sunshine when we were growing up, but I grew up, Bella—"

"And I didn't?"

"I'm not saying that. It's just, since we got back from Paris… I don't know. You need to stop this… I don't know."

"Stop what?" I ask her. "I can't help what I feel. I hate Forks. Everywhere else, I'm happy. When I go there, I'm not."

"You realize this all started when you ended up at that stupid beach with Felix."

"Huh?"

Jane puts away her phone and walks over to me until she's leaning against the full-length mirror I've been avoiding this entire time.

"You know what I'm talking about. Back in May, when we were all in Forks? When your dad suggested showing Felix the beaches… You hadn't been back in… Isn't that when you started having those dreams again?"

"Whatever. That was stupid."

It was stupid. So stupid. I'd avoided that fucking place for over five years. I'd gone to every other beach over the years. Not that one. But I figured, why not? It had been so long. So long without him in my life. And way, way over a year since he had been in my dreams. Why would a quick stop at the beach with my boyfriend be a bad idea? Felix is such a good guy. He was the best boyfriend. Amazing lover. Such a great friend. We held hands and walked down the path to the beach, and I was so glad that I had asked Jane to join us, because I immediately felt that sadness I hate so much take over me. It was right then that I felt how uncomfortable it was to hold Felix's hand. I quickly placed my hand in my pocket, then wrapped my arms around myself. Three stupid weeks. Three stupid weeks of my life, three insignificant, ridiculous weeks with a boy. And I can't visit a beach without having a complete meltdown and doubting every moment I've spent with this man who made me happy.

Happy. What the fuck is happy?

I've been happy. Paris, the saddest city, made me happy. Riley in the beginning made me so happy. The annual trips to Disney that my dad insists we go on since he got that raise a few years ago make me happy. Visiting Jasper, and hanging, and smoking, and chilling with him and his weirdo family makes me happy.

But then, one stupid trip to the beach. Or sometimes, one mention of that stupid city all the way on the east coast. With its stupid tall buildings. And stupid schools. And stupid residents who decide to move across the country and destroy lives because they can. Because it's easy to pack up and move to a hick town in Washington, and even easier to just move back.

"Bella?"

"What?" I snap.

"Nothing… Umm…. Maybe that cute dress you bought last week. The blue one?"

"What about it?"

"You were asking me what I thought you should wear tonight," she replies.

"Oh, is that what we were talking about?"

Jane's shoulders slump as she walks back to her chair, mumbling something about me looking good in shirtdresses.

With Jane off sulking in a corner, I take this opportunity to see what's going on with my hair. I let out a disgusting, girly shriek, which quickly turns into a wail.

"Bella!"

Jane comes over and stares at my reflection with me.

"You look… different. Gorgeous. Always. Look at your cheekbones."

"You little _liar_," I whisper. "You fucking… oh my God. Where is my hair?"

"You asked for layers and a trim. I was going to give you bangs, but at the end decided you couldn't pull them off. You look more your age now," the sad little shit with the scissors informs me.

"Oh, you must win a plethora of awards for excellent customer service. Get away from me, _now_," I tell him.

"Ma'am," he says, rolling his eyes at me, "you need to relax. I get high-strung customers in here all the time, and we always tell them—"

"You don't have to tell me shit. I'm going to pay for this haircut, and then I'm going to leave, and I pray I'll never see you again. Because I swear if I do, and if I happen to have a pair of scissors on me, I will c—"

"Ooookay," Jane says, grabbing my arm and pulling me off my chair. "Sir, thanks so much for this wonderful experience. Bella, we'll dry and style your hair someplace else."

Bored Dude freaks out for some reason, starts apologizing like crazy, and the two of them force me to sit back down. I immediately feel bad, and start apologizing to him, and then I see my big, stupid face with all these uneven layers, and my now shoulder length hair, and oh my God, I'm crying. Then I'm laughing. Then Jane is pointing at my reflection in the mirror. And I'm having trouble breathing, and sit up to get a better look at myself.

"See? Oh my God. I _need_ to move to New York. It's like, the perfect hair to meet—"

"Bella…"

I sit back and frown.

"Bella, you know you can't move to New York, hoping you'll run into him," Jane tells me.

"I'm not… that's so stupid. Jane, I'm not moving there because I think I'll run into him. That's just… it's ridiculous. I need a change. I told you…"

"You do, darling," Scissor Man says. "Seattle's not the place for you. Look at your skin. You need a change. Let her go to New York! Run after some guy! You're only young once."

"I'm _not_ running after a guy."

Jane raises an eyebrow, and so does Scissors.

"Well, even if I was, I can't now. I look like a soccer mom. He'd never do me, looking like this…"

"Soccer mom?! How dare you? This is a very modern look. Wait until I'm done."

"I'd put it up and let the layers hang around your face," Jane tells me.

"Or that," Scissors says.

We all laugh. And I look awful. But I do like my cheekbones. And so does Edward. But he doesn't, because he hasn't seen me in six years. But he will. One day. The dreams don't lie. And if they do, I'll just keep waiting, and coming back here to get this ridiculous haircut, because I recognize it. And even if it takes fifty years, I know I'll see him again. I guess I'm stuck with this hair. Jane tugs at my sleeve as I wave goodbye to the asshole who did this to me. He's back to looking bored and I'm back to being ignored again. Dick. I left him a good tip, too.

XxXxX

"I think you look hot," Felix tells me, as I play with a strand of hair, trying to get it to stay in place.

"Aw, thanks." I smile at him, and he smiles back, chuckling a little to himself.

"What?"

"Nothing," he says. "Let's go, we still need to stop by somewhere and buy a bottle of wine or something."

"I have a bunch of unopened bottles, most of which you've bought at some point. Go pick one out."

I sit at the edge of my bed—futon, actually—and stare at myself in the mirror. I decided to wear the navy blue shirtdress Jane had suggested. It's very casual, especially without heels, and it's loose and comfortable, too. My hair is up, and I have some loose strands hanging around my face. It looks fine this way, and I've stopped caring for now.

Felix comes back, with a bottle of something in his hand, and sits next to me.

"You're gorgeous. Quit staring at yourself."

"But you stare at me."

He laughs, and places his hand on my knee. "That's because you're the only thing worth staring at here."

"Thanks," I mutter, looking around. "I'm being compared to Jane's old futon and some gross yellow walls."

"You're the only thing worth staring at, period?" Felix tries again.

I cover his hand with mine for a second, then tap it a few times, gently. "We better go," I tell him.

"Yeah…"

It's a short drive to his friend's apartment, where I'm told the party is being held. I've met Royce King once, and immediately decided that he was a douche. Of course, I shared this opinion with Felix, who shrugged and agreed with me, saying he was an old family friend who wasn't as annoying as he seemed. Douche or not, I don't want to be at Jane's, studying or watching her do yoga all night.

"Have you given any more thought on what you want to do for your birthday?" Felix asks, as we search for a parking spot.

"I don't like birthdays," I remind him.

"I know…. I thought maybe dinner, with Jane and a few friends."

"No."

"You're a strange kid, Bella," he tells me. "You make a big deal about your birthday for weeks, but refuse to celebrate it."

"Birthdays _suck_," I say.

"Well, you should know I already got you a present."

I groan, and frown at him.

"I wanted to take you away for the weekend, before we… before you—"

"Before I broke up with you? You can say it. Thanks, Felix. That was sweet of you, but it would be weird going away with you now," I tell him.

"I don't think so," he says.

"No?"

"No. It would just be two friends, going to Vancouver together to hang out for a weekend."

"Vancouver?" I repeat.

"Sure. We had fun last time," he reminds me.

Sure we did. I made you leave Forks with me, and it was the closest place I hadn't been to before, that we could go last minute. It was the night I started having the dreams again, after our escape from the beach. My escape, since you were having a good time. I'm not sure what I was escaping from. Maybe I've been escaping the dreams all along, although I want more of them, and I cling to them. Or maybe I understood a long time ago that I can't outrun them, and I've just accepted that they're a part of my life. They're what bring me the greatest joy—the knowledge that I'll have him back someday. They also manage to fuck up every good thing that actually happens to me when I'm awake.

Vancouver to me means one thing: outrageously dirty sex. What better way to feel fine and have a good time? I'm not sure it helped me, but it made Felix happy. He forgot about my little meltdown at the beach, and never asked about it again, since he was too preoccupied with doing the things he loves, over and over again. So maybe Vancouver: Part Deux isn't such a great idea, given our history in the lovely city.

"When were you thinking of going?" I ask him.

"Well, next weekend. It was supposed to be a surprise."

"Oh, Felix, I'm sorry, but I promised my parents I'd spend next weekend in Forks."

And I did. After Jane and I returned to the apartment this afternoon, I called my dad, who told me he missed me. For a second—just barely a second—I considered driving home tomorrow and spending my birthday weekend with them. But then I remembered why I hate birthdays, and why I hate being back in Forks. So Forks on my birthday… No. Instead, I promised him I'd spend next Friday through Sunday with them, and that we'd fish, and have a belated birthday dinner, and hang out at the diner, eating some delicious pie.

"You haven't been there in a while," Felix points out.

"Exactly. I'm really sorry," I tell him, bringing my hand up to run my fingers through his hair. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, turning his face towards me. I feel his lips against my wrist, and I quickly pretend to look at my watch to check the time.

"Felix. I think it's party time," I tell him.

"It's always party time with you, Swan."

We walk the two blocks to what we had assumed would be an apartment, but it turns out to be a house. It's eerily quiet on this street, and we don't even hear any sounds coming from inside the house. Just as Felix is about to ring the doorbell a second time, the door opens, and Royce greets us with a smile and two bottles of beer.

"Always on time," he says to Felix, patting him on the shoulder and holding out one of the beers.

"Isabella, good to see you again."

"Good to see you too," I say, shrugging out of my jacket.

"Are we early?" Felix asks.

"No, there are a few people hanging out back," Royce replies. "Rosie's picking someone up at the airport, she's running a little late. Eat. Drink."

I excuse myself to check my hair in the bathroom. Bored Scissor Dude said he didn't give me bangs, but the shortest layer in front barely reaches my nose. I try to put it behind my ear, but it doesn't work. I'm restless, nervous, since we got out of the car. I don't know what Felix wants from me. Or maybe I know exactly what he wants, and I can't give him that. Or maybe I can, but I know I'd be doing it just because it's something to do. Because when you have the choice to be in a relationship, to hang out with someone, sometimes you just do it. And when it gets too serious, and you know someone's going to get hurt soon, you end it. You try to stay friends, but it never really works. With Felix, I thought it was working. I guess I was wrong. He was the one who wanted to just hook up at first. He didn't want a relationship. He liked taking me to parties, he liked hanging out with me. Then something changed. And I was okay with that. It actually made me very happy. For the first time since Riley, I was glad to be with someone and call him my boyfriend. After the beach and Vancouver, however, I had to tell him that I wasn't ready for anything serious. So we went back to hanging out and sex. That really doesn't work. So the sex had to go, too. And now we're friends. Except he kisses my wrists and treats me like his girlfriend. And I let him, because why not?

The past six years of my life have just been a big "because why not?"

And tonight is no different. I'm going to hang out with strangers, smoke too many cigarettes, and play with my hair. Felix is going to gently pry my fingers from my hair, and I'm going to lose my temper. We'll have an argument, and then he'll drop me off at Jane's. I know this is going to happen tonight—like I know a million other things—but I won't do anything to change it.

I walk out and find Felix and Royce sitting in the living room, in the middle of a conversation.

"He's a bum," I hear Royce say as I take a seat beside Felix. "He's staying with her for a couple of weeks to check out programs in Seattle. She says he'll probably get in anywhere, but I think they're delusional. He's probably just sick of New York and thought hey, let me take a vacation."

"Who are we talking about?" I ask.

"His girlfriend's cousin."

"He's from New York?" Does Felix know him? Maybe I can ask him some questions about moving out there.

Royce nods. "I fucking hate New York. Excuse me, Isabella," he quickly apologizes.

Felix laughs. "Bella's got quite an interesting vocabulary. You can express yourself freely in her presence."

"Fuck, yeah," I say, smiling at Royce.

"Oh hey, you're from around here, aren't you?" Royce asks me.

"Well, sort of. I grew up in a small town in Clallam County. It's a few hours away. Forks."

"We're headed up there next week. I told Rosie there's not much to do, but—"

"Bella Swan?"

Hearing my name out of nowhere like that surprises me, and I jump before turning to see who said it. I recognize Angela Weber, a girl I took a few classes with when I was a freshman.

"Angela," I say, standing up to properly greet her. "It's been so long. What are you doing here?"

"I'm here with my fiancé," she explains, turning back to find him, presumably. But there's no one around, and she gives me an apologetic smile.

"Sit with us," I tell her, and we quickly fall into a conversation about people we went to school with. I tell her about Paris, and about my final semester in school. She tells me she just graduated herself, so I shouldn't feel bad about taking my time. After all, what is there after all of this? More school? A job? The subject quickly changes, and we talk a lot about my hair. When I turn to ask Felix for a cigarette, he's gone. So is Royce.

"Boys suck," I say.

She laughs and tells me she agrees with me. Her boy takes this precise moment to join us, and I can tell from the minute I meet him that he's pretty awesome, and that he's crazy about her.

I wonder if boys are ever crazy about me. Just me. No one has ever used those words to describe their feelings towards me since Edward. I'll never forget that day. The best day of my life. Also the worst. The hours we spent at Rialto beach, followed by the last time we were in my bed. For years I struggled with letting go. And I did a decent job. The pain just went away—slowly—but it went away. A small ache remained that flared up sometimes, but in the most part, it was gone. I just lived with the hope of seeing him again. My beautiful boy. And then a few months ago, it all came back. And it's like, everywhere I go, I hear about Forks, or stupid La Push, or every other fucking beach or town around there. And I hear about New York, and I see boys with green eyes, and I turn the television on during a Yankees game, and it's everywhere. But really, it's nowhere. He's nowhere. Except in my dreams at night. Almost every night. And sometimes I wake up, expecting him to be there next to me. And sometimes Jane wakes me up because I've been screaming, and I'm so glad I'm not back home. I remember my dad's face every time he had to wake me up from my dreams. I don't know how I would have survived without him. I paid him back by abandoning him and visiting maybe twice a year. Excellent, Bella. You really know how to treat loved ones.

I turn my attention to Angela's fiancé, Ben, who is asking me a question. Not wanting to be rude, I give him a smile and pretend I've been listening. I catch the last part of his question, hoping it's enough for me to respond without making it obvious that I've been in my own head this entire time.

"—grew up close to Rialto Beach. Have you been to Hole-in-the-Wall?"

It's like I'm constantly being punished.

Yes, I have been to Hole-in-the-Wall. Not too many times. Once, a boy forced me to go on a hike with him, and we went, and he held me, and kissed me, and made me watch the sunset with him. Or maybe I was the one who wanted to see the sunset. Maybe I forced him. I don't remember. A lot of things get forgotten, a lot of things change in my head, depending on the day, and my mood. I thought Hole-in-the-Wall was overrated. Who cares? Stupid nature and stupid beaches. I was just there because of him, and because I loved the waves, and because when we were there, it was just us. We were such a cliché. Two kids pretending to be in a movie. So crazy about each other, just for a few weeks. Walking hand-in-hand on beaches, because that's what you're supposed to do. Except no one else did that. No one else spent countless silent hours together, walking, or sitting, or watching. And yet, we were the ultimate cliché. Thinking we were making love, when we were fucking like two silly amateurs who just needed to reach that thing, but together, just as long as it was together, holding onto each other. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

"Yeah, I grew up in Forks," I tell Ben.

"You're kidding, did you go to school there?" he asks me.

"I lived there my entire life, until college."

"That's crazy. Isn't that the town Rose was telling us about the other day?" Angela asks.

I see everything clearly now. Like, bright. Colors. Shapes. Everything is so clearly defined. I feel like the fuzziness is gone. I hadn't even realized it was there. Rose. Forks. Beaches. This can't be real.

"Yeah. Oh, there she is," Ben says, waving at a smiley blonde in a cute dress. "Rose!"

Rose waves back and says, "just a minute," before running off toward where I think the kitchen is.

I'd recognize Rosalie Cullen, wouldn't I? How much could one person change in just a few years. I realize now that I don't know what she's supposed to look like. I don't know what anyone else is supposed to look like. After all, even Jane is never in my dreams, even though she's a huge part of my life. I try to keep it together, crossing and uncrossing my legs, playing with the hem of my skirt, chewing on the edge of my stupid little scarf. I notice Angela watching me, and I smile shyly. "Are you okay?" she mouths. I nod. Because you don't actually tell people you're not okay. Who does that? Does she really want to hear what I have to say? That the cousin of the man I think about almost every day is in this house? And that maybe he's here too?

And the conversation between Felix and Royce comes back to me. Suddenly, I feel very ill. I tell Ben and Angela that I want to go out to get some air. They come with me. I just need to find Felix. Maybe we can leave. Why do I want to leave? Why would I leave? What if he's here? If he's here, I'll never want to leave. Or maybe I'll run, just like I did once before. Except I didn't go anywhere… he's the one who left. But every time Jane brings it up, she makes it sound like I ran fast and far, and in my mind that's exactly what happened.

Stupid habits don't go away. I'm clawing at my neck, probably leaving marks. I see Felix standing a few feet away with Royce and another man, who looks so different from the men in their nice shirts and fancy jeans. Why do I notice stupid things? Felix sees me and waves, and when I'm finally right there, my only thought is that I'm very, very lucky to have his arm to hold on to.

"Edward, this is my friend I was telling you and Ben about," Royce says. "She grew up in Forks. Maybe you two crossed paths. Isabella, this is Rosie's cousin, Edward."

I wonder if Felix notices how my nails are digging into his skin the second Edward turns to me with a smile on his face. In my twenty-four years, I have never encountered anything more beautiful, and I can't help but smile back. He laughs and runs his hand through his hair.

"Hey, Bella."

**You guys are still here!**

**Thank you so much for all your feedback on the last chapter. I hope you were relieved to see that we're back to the normal format of this story. **

**I was super nervous to update this week. Jumping ahead six years was a little scary, so I'd love to know what you think of Bella and Jane, now that they're older.**

**Do you guys like Felix?**

**If you could choose one word to describe Bella here, what would it be? **

**And um, what do you think is up with Edward?**


	18. The last time I saw you like this

**Thanks to ciaobella27 for reading this. Thanks to writeontime for being the perfect beta. Thanks to both of them for giving me kripples for my birthday. I love you.**

**I don't own Twilight.**

He's unfair.

Over the years, while I never admitted this to myself, or to Jane, I always wondered if he wore a hat in my dreams because he was balding. And while the idea of a balding Edward broke my heart, it never mattered. It was never about his hair, or his clothes, or how beautiful he was. It was about the way he made me feel. I don't think I realized this before I met him, but those few weeks following my eighteenth birthday showed me that it was never about how hot the man in the hat was. Thinking back to those days, I only remember the way he made me smile, and the things he did to my heart. When I compare him to other men, I don't think about who is better looking... I compare the way I feel seconds after a kiss, to what his kisses did to me, and this is why all of my relationships fail.

Standing in front of him right now, I think about the boy I knew, and the girl I was. People change; people grow up. Lucky people, that is. Except for the bags under my eyes, the strange hair, and the ten pounds I've gained since high school, I pretty much look the same. I look older, yes, but my body hasn't gone through too many changes. I always thought my knees would stop looking like they belonged on a twelve-year-old boy. I always hoped I'd grow some hips, and a little more of an ass. At seventeen, I was "curvier" than Jane, but now Jane looks like a woman. I just look like me. And guys tell me I'm hot. They touch me with satisfied smiles and lust-filled eyes, and they whisper that I have a nice ass—but it's really just the same ass Edward touched so many times when I was a kid in Forks. Jane reminds me of how confident I was in my own skin back then, how I loved to flaunt my body. She says it should be no different now, since I more or less have that same body.

But I probably look so stupid. Especially now.

And he… he's grown up. He's not skinny anymore. I think I'd call him lean. I doubt he's any taller, but he seems taller. He looks older, and he also looks tired, but maybe that's because he practically just stepped off a plane. His arms look strong. His eyes are green. His mouth is his mouth. And his hair is his hair. Maybe just a little longer. Maybe just a little crazier.

"Hi," I say. My voice sounds stupid. It's low, and deep, and throaty, and it's begging him to take me somewhere and pull up my dress, and pull down his pants, and touch me in different ways until I'm holding him against me, and he's calm, and quiet, and satisfied. And I'm satisfied. And we're kids again, with no decisions to make other than when to hang out, and what to wear, and how to lie to our parents about why we want to do our own laundry—because Mom, that stain is certainly not a result of Edward getting too excited, too fast. I just spilled something on my skirt after school. I swear.

"You two know each other?" Royce asks.

"We went to high school together when my family moved to Washington," Edward replies.

"Yeah…" I feel Felix's arms around my waist, and watch Edward's eyes move from my face, to Felix's hands, to something far away behind us, and his smile is smaller, but it's still there.

"I thought you looked familiar," Felix says to Edward. My stomach does a big flip. "He's in that picture you have up in your room of you and Jane. He's the kid sitting next to you," Felix tells me.

"Yeah."

I don't know why I didn't realize when I left the apartment tonight that my shoes are ugly. If I keep staring at them, I'm going to end up kicking them off, and walking around barefoot the rest of the night. I want to look up, and watch him, and never look away, but my face is still hot. My ex just let my ex know that I keep a picture of us around, six years later.

"Small world, eh?" Royce says, chuckling. "I'm going to go find Rose. You two catch up, I'll be back."

"What picture?" Edward asks, staring at the empty bottle of beer in his hands.

Placing my hands over Felix's larger ones, I remove them from where they're sitting on my stomach. When he places them on my hips instead, I remove them from there as well. He's not stupid, and I can finally take a normal breath when he takes a very small step back. _I'm not some extension of you, Felix, let me go sometimes. _I used to joke about it a lot, until it became too much, and it was stifling… that's when I knew he'd always be a friend, no longer a lover.

And just like Felix knew back then that he had to let me go, he knows tonight that something is different. He's not stupid. For weeks he hadn't touched me like that, but his hands were on me the second I said "Hi." He must have realized then that I was gone for good. Because I am.

I'm so gone.

"Just a picture from my birthday," I explain.

"Birthday? I didn't know that," Felix says.

"Yeah, my eighteenth birthday... We were hanging out at Edward's house."

"I remember that night."

I finally look up at him, but now he's the one staring at his feet. I wonder what he's thinking. How much does one remember six years later? I suppose it depends on how much the thing in question meant to that person. The night of my birthday, in 2009, Edward and I had sex for the first time. It was unexpected, and crazy, and there was so much happening on his bed, in his room. Were we falling in love? The way he looked at me, and the way he moved… everything tells me he was falling in love with me. So does he remember that night like I remember it? Maybe he's being polite. Or maybe he remembers having sex with a drunk, easy girl he said words to that he probably, maybe meant at the time… a girl he has long forgotten.

"Pretty crazy that you two know each other," Felix comments.

I don't know how to respond, so I walk over to a nearby table, and grab a few beers, handing one to Felix, and the other to Edward. I hate beer, and I haven't learned to mask my distaste for it over the years. Felix calls me the Waster of Beers. I always accept a bottle, only to leave it somewhere and walk away a few minutes later. That was the fate of the bottle Royce handed me when we first arrived. But I drink this one. I drink it quickly. I drink another one right after I'm done, because Royce is back with Rosalie, and it's time for awkward hugs, and small talk, and promises to hang out soon. Felix tells them I'll be in Forks next weekend. Fucking idiot. Will I meet Rosalie there? Sure, why not, I tell her. She beams. I take out a cigarette. I try to light it, but I fail. Edward helps. We're standing so close. So close. He leaves. There's vodka. I tell Rose and Felix that I have to use the bathroom. Felix offers to walk with me, but I shake my head and say no, no, no. I'm good. I think about Edward, and how he kept going back and forth between staring at me, and staring at the floor. Almost completely silent, like me.

As I walk away, I hear Rosalie tell Felix something about how Edward's girlfriend, Chelsea, "does that too"…

Does what? Maybe Edward. Obviously Edward. I wonder how often. But something else, also. Something Felix cares about. So something boring. Edward's girlfriend, Chelsea, does something boring.

So Edward, you have a girlfriend. Her name is Chelsea. It sounds familiar, and I wonder if you've talked about her before, or if Jane has mentioned her. No, not Jane. The memory is too old, too fuzzy. It must be something you told me yourself. Maybe she's the girl you dated before you moved to Forks. Maybe she's another Chelsea. Maybe she's someone you met just a few weeks ago, and fell madly in love with. Maybe you're crazy about her. She probably has long, pretty hair, she's probably done something with her life. She probably doesn't have to make an entire year of doing nothing in Paris sound glamorous and fantastic. She probably doesn't have to shrug and act like still being in college at twenty-four is not a big deal. These are things I do on an almost daily basis. Things I did tonight. You once asked me how I'd made it to senior year. It's like you knew… And if you remember any of that shit from your brief sojourn in Forks, you're probably applauding yourself for being right. Bella Swan is a total loser.

I hate being too tipsy to walk in a straight line. I make my way to the bathroom and lock myself in until I'm calm. It takes a while, because I make the mistake of looking at my face in the mirror. I see my hair. After tugging at random strands and pulling as much of it as I can into a tight ponytail, I unlock the door and shove it open. Stupid sticky doors in stupid old houses.

"Hey."

He smells different. I don't know what it is, but it's just different. Everything is so different. Just not his eyes. And not his mouth. I wonder if he feels different. Probably not. Probably just as nice as his eyes, and his mouth.

"Hi, sorry. Were you waiting for long?" I ask.

"No, I saw you go in, and…"

"You waited out here for me?"

"Yeah, no. I just came back—"

"Oh, good. I mean, I was trying to fix my hair. It's just, I got a haircut today, and it was a disaster, so I'm a little obsessed. I can't get it to cooperate, and I don't look like myself, and—"

"You look fine," he says, cutting me off. Fine? Fine. Fine it is. "Listen, Bella, I'm sorry I left so abruptly earlier, but I…"

"Yeah?"

"It's really good to see you."

"Really?" I ask. Stupid question, Bella, because even if he was just saying that to be nice, he wouldn't admit to lying just seconds later because you asked for some clarification on the matter. And do you really want to know if he's being honest? You just want him to be glad to see you.

He nods. "It's been a long time, and I'd forgotten just how… Shit, I think I'm drunk."

His hands move to his hair and the back of his neck. He scratches, and winces, and looks uncomfortable.

"Me too," I tell him. My nails are probably drawing blood. My chest probably looks all scratched up. I try to cover as much of my skin as possible with my hand flat against my chest.

An ugly girl in a pretty dress squeezes her way past us into the bathroom. We just stand in silence, staring, and then not staring anymore.

"Umm, it's pretty late in New York," he starts, "and I've had a long day. I'm going to bed, but… maybe you can give me your number? Or I can give you mine, if that makes you more comfortable."

"Yeah... I—"

"Like I was telling that guy outside, I'm looking into a few programs in Seattle, and it's just difficult getting the feel of a city when you don't have a lot of friends there. You're pretty familiar with the area..."

"Yeah, it's always easier when you have a friend in a new city. You can call me if you need anything."

"If I need anything," he repeats. "Look, I understand if you don't want to… I mean, I guess we were never really _friends_—"

"Shit, Cullen, you broke my heart once…no need to do it all over again. We were _sorta _friends," I say, laughing a little to let him know I'm kidding around. Or maybe I'm laughing to keep myself from crying. Because… ouch.

"I broke your… nice interpretation of what happened."

"Interpre—"

"Listen, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way. I… forget it. I'll forgive you for rewriting history, if you forgive me for saying we weren't friends."

"Deal," I tell him, trying to smile, but there is so much for me to take in right now. Is he saying I broke his heart? I shouldn't be surprised, but I am. I always assumed he moved on, just like he did when he broke up with his girlfriend in New York and moved to Forks. And is he right? Were we never really friends? Do non-friends spend every moment of every day together? Do they whisper, and touch, and laugh together?

"Do you mind giving me your phone?" Edward asks, reminding me to keep smiling and act casual. "I can enter my number in there for you."

"I can do it," I protest. He mumbles a bunch of numbers, looking over my shoulder as I enter them incorrectly a few times. He laughs. I giggle. When I finally manage to save Edward's number, my phone vibrates with a new text. I open it, and the two of us stare at the words.

_Where are you? I'm tired. I think it's time to go._

"Your boyfriend thinks it's time to go."

"He's not my boyfriend," I correct him. "He _used_ to be my boyfriend."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Who's your boyfriend now?"

"No one. I'm married now," I joke.

"Don't break my heart, Bella Swan," he says with a smile, his hand reaching out to me. He quickly lowers it before I feel anything, and takes a step back.

"I'm s-single," I manage to say. Why do I hate that word, and yet love it more than anything else? I love it because it means I have no one else to consider when I meet Edward. But then here he is, and he's not single. And saying it right now is like admitting to him that I'm alone, and that I'm available, eager. Look at me! I'm single, Edward! Fortunately, unlike most assholes when you inform them of your single status, Edward doesn't give me looks of pity or sympathy. He doesn't throw a sad smile my way.

"You should let him know you're single, Bella. I don't think he does."

"Why do you care?" I ask.

I want to remind him that _he's_ not single, but I don't. Because if I do, this will end. And it can't end. No, no, no. I want him to talk to me some more, before I have to go… before he remembers that he wanted to call it a night five minutes ago.

"I don't," he retorts, clearly annoyed.

"Oh, you do."

He considers this for a second before he laughs, leaning closer to me. He smells like cigarettes and beer, and yet he smells so different from the boy I knew. "Do I?" he asks. "Maybe I do. Probably not. I don't know."

"You know."

"I swear to God, Bella, I really don't."

His smile is gone. He's serious, and tired, and I have to go.

"Okay, then…"

"Yeah… so maybe I'll see you in Forks next week?" he asks.

"Maybe. I'll be visiting my parents. If I have some time..."

"I know."

"So… I don't know…"

"Bella!" I turn around and see Felix standing a few feet away, looking a little annoyed and impatient.

"I should go," I tell Edward. "Here, I'm going to call you now, so you have my number. I umm… it was good to see you."

"Get home safe."

I nod. "Sweet dreams."

I call him and hang up after it rings once. Felix tries to grab my hand as we're leaving, telling me I'm a little wasted, and that he can help. I say I'm fine. I am. I'm more than fine. I just talked to Edward. He wants to call me, or he wants me to call him. He said something about seeing me in Forks. Edward in Forks. My heart is beating faster than it has in the past six years. My brain can't even comprehend what just happened. My heart is flying, soaring. My brain tells it to stop.

XxXxX

Friday night in Forks.

There's not much to do. My parents made me go to the diner with them for some steak, salad, and pie, none of which I ate. Since it was sold to a new owner a few years back, the quality of the food hasn't been the same. Mom and Dad don't notice, and if they do, they don't care. This is how they spend their Friday nights, and they're happy, so it's all good.

On our way out, I heard someone call my name. And now I'm sitting across from Emmett McCarty, at a disgusting bar I never knew existed growing up.

"She's really cute, Em. I can't believe she's almost five."

Emmett has a kid. A daughter. Sometime during our senior year, he got a girl from another school pregnant, and she decided to keep it. At the time, I had wanted to comfort him, be his friend, and tell him everything would be okay. I probably never did. I probably didn't speak to anyone but Jane and Jasper for months after Edward left. I don't regret having missed out on all the fun my senior year. High school sucks for a lot of people, so I probably wasn't the only miserable kid at school. What I do regret is letting go of the few friends I had. Emmett, Mike, even people like Seth and Peter, who were always nice to me, especially when they saw what a mess I had turned into.

"Yeah, she turns five in December. She's the greatest, Bella. Best thing that ever happened to me."

I highly doubt this is true, knowing everything he gave up to stay here and help raise her, but I smile and nod anyway.

"So what brings you to Forks? Your dad was really excited about your visit. I ran into him at the Thriftway with Heidi a couple of days ago. He misses you, a lot."

"I know… Well, it's my birthday this weekend, and since I didn't really have plans, I decided to spend it with my parents," I explain.

"Happy birthday. Twenty-three?"

"Twenty-four."

"Wow. We're grownups now," Emmett says.

"Yeah…"

We talk about Heidi, her achievements, and his plans for her until it gets pretty late. I feel old, and tired, because what the fuck? I'm sitting here discussing a kid, and that's something I've never done before. I tell Emmett that I should probably head home. He grabs his keys and walks out with me, pointing to where his car is parked.

"Don't want to hear it, Bella, I know I have a dad car."

"Emmett, are you like, _with_ Heidi's mom?" I ask. I don't think he is, but why's he driving a dad car? He has just one kid. It seems so unnecessary.

"No, we never got together. She's a great mom, and we get along, but we never tried to make it work between us. Probably for the best—no anger or resentment there. We're just good friends."

"So are you seeing anyone?"

"Not at the moment," he replies. Laughing, he adds, "Why? Are you asking me out?"

"You were never my type, McCarty," I tease.

"Speaking of your type, Swan, you know who's coming up here this weekend?"

"I do… but who told you?"

"Rosie," he tells me, like I should know that he and Rosalie are besties, or whatever.

"You guys keep in touch?"

"Yeah. She's one of my closest friends. When I found I was going to be a dad, I called her, freaking out. She was already back in New York by then. She helped me through some tough times."

"Weird."

"Weird? Why?" Emmett wants to know.

"Weren't you guys… into each other when she lived here?"

He shrugs. "I was into her, a lot. I was planning on making my move when she told me they were leaving."

"That sucks. Have you seen her since? It's been years."

"Twice. I visited her in California when she was there for college."

"Wow. I can't believe you guys kept in touch. That's… crazy."

"Not really," Emmett says.

"I never kept in touch with Edward."

"I know."

Neither of us says much until we're parked behind my dad's car. I tell him I'd love to meet Heidi, and that it was great running into him. He invites me over to a barbecue at his place tomorrow. I can tell how excited he is about seeing Rosalie again. I wonder if he knows about Royce. Rosalie and I are practically strangers, but something tells me she's not one to keep that kind of information to herself in this type of situation. Emmett probably knows, and he's probably fine with just being friends. I wish I could be normal and mature like that, but I spend another night in bed, thinking about Edward, his girlfriend, and the fact that he never called or texted, after I gave him my number last weekend.

When I told Jane about seeing Edward and Rosalie at the party, she immediately told me not to get my hopes up. It was exactly what I didn't want to hear, but also exactly what I expected from her. Shortly after Edward left Forks, Jane asked if it was possible that the few weeks Edward and I had spent together were all I was meant to have with him, especially given my decision to let him go. When I pointed out that I was still having the dreams, she in turn pointed out that I wasn't the first person to dream about someone I'd loved and lost. Maybe my post-Edward dreams were different from my pre-Edward ones. Maybe they were just dreams. I hated hearing it, but over the years, I sometimes used what Jane told me as a rationalization for living my life and planning a future with someone else. It didn't really work, and I never believed that my dreams were nothing more than things I saw when I fell asleep.

Jane brought this up again last weekend, when she told me to not get my hopes up. And yes, I hate hearing it, but the truth is that I'm not a kid anymore. I know that relying so heavily on my dreams of Edward, just for day-to-day survival, is ridiculous.

I've known happiness. I've had great times. My life has been full of amazing people, and I've had experiences others would kill for. I hate acknowledging that Edward is better than everything else, and that I'm so willing to do just about anything to make my dreams come true, but I won't lie to myself. He is all I ever wanted, and maybe six years ago, I fucked up.

My decision made sense at the time, and I think it continues to make sense. But then Emmett shows up at the diner, and tells me he has kept in touch with Rosalie for six years. How am I supposed to lie here tonight and not wonder 'what if'? It's the easiest question you can ask yourself, and something I've refused to ask since Jane threw my phone out the window. I always thought that it's the coward's question—sitting around and asking "what if" instead of going out and doing something with your life, or about the situation. I realize now, however, that it also takes a measure of courage to ask the question and be forced to face the possible answers.

I'm a dreamer, but I'm also a realist. It's past midnight now, and I can spend the entire night asking myself what if I had kept in touch? What if I had attempted to convince him to try the long distance thing? What if I had remained friends with him and left open a path that could possibly lead him back to me someday? But fuck that. It would have been unbearably painful to watch him walk away and watch us grow apart. We would have broken up eventually, if we had tried to stay together. And friendship? Let's be real. It will never be enough, and even today, I'm not sure I want to just be his friend. Because, really? I'd be lying to myself and lying to him. And I don't do that.

XxXxX

The first thought I have when I wake up startles me.

Against all odds, even after all I did, we met again.

And maybe it's just a coincidence, and it's a small world, and Seattle's not the largest city, but let's really think about this. I ran into the man I've been dreaming of for over six years, at a party thrown for his cousin by her boyfriend, who is good friends with my ex. What are the chances? He doesn't live in Seattle. We don't really run in the same circles. Yes, it's possible that I've been dreaming of the first guy I fell in love with, and that these dreams are no different from the ones I regularly have, in which my teeth fall out and crumble in my hands, or I'm back in high school, failing a trig test. But no. Bullshit. Edward is back. He looks like Hat Guy, even if the motherfucker isn't wearing a hat. I look like shit—like in my dreams. This means something.

I glance over at the pink alarm clock on my nightstand and realize that I've slept for almost ten hours. I need to get ready for Emmett's barbecue. I'm guessing the Cullens will be there, and this makes me want to wear something cute to impress him. And I'll flirt and smile a lot, and hope he calls his girlfriend and says "this isn't really working out between us, goodbye," or something along those lines. But flirting and smiling isn't what got me Edward Cullen the first time around, and he was single back then. I'm not exactly sure how things progressed the first time we got together. There was a lot of confusion, and he was a dick for the most part, until… he wasn't. I guess I must have flirted and smiled a lot at some point, but was rewarded with indifference and scowls from him. Maybe I'm remembering it wrong. It's just, I remember being really frustrated and sad, and then really, really excited and happy. He probably just wanted to bone, and saw that I was ready and willing—hence the sudden change of heart and willingness to acknowledge my existence. Except then events took a crazy turn, and he was saying things that were totally unfair, because they made even the most romantic words other men whispered after him seem trite and stupid and lame.

I put on the only pair of jeans I packed, and a shirt I like that works with just about everything. My parents are thrilled that I'll be hanging out with old friends. This seems strange to me, since I live with my oldest friend, so it's not really like I've lost touch with everybody. I don't mention anything about Edward or Rosalie being here this weekend. What's the point? They probably hate the Cullens for turning me into an emo teenager who just stared out her window for months, wearing the same gross sweats. I'm pretty sure my mom would lock me up in my room if she found out that Edward Cullen is anywhere near Emmett's tonight.

I get lost twice on my way to Emmett's place. When I finally find it, I forget the bottle of wine sitting in the passenger seat, and have to go back to retrieve it. I knock on the door, and it opens, but there's no one there, but oh, I guess there's this little person with dark, curly hair, and a tacky purple dress smiling up at me.

"Hey, is your dad here?" I ask her.

She starts yelling "Daddy" and I fight the urge to cover my ears.

I'm introduced to Heidi McCarty, and she's actually pretty cute. She talks a lot, and I listen until Emmett drags her away, telling her to draw me a picture. I don't want one, so I protest, but then I catch on to what he's doing. If she draws a picture, she'll leave us alone. Emmett takes the bottle of wine from my hands, and tells me to go out back, where everyone else is hanging out.

Of course, 'everyone' includes Edward, who is standing in a corner, on his phone, wearing a baseball cap.

Riley, the hairy French dudes I hooked up with in Paris, the professor I was seeing at one point, and Felix all made me feel things. Lots of things. Mostly, they made me feel really, really good. Riley and Felix made me happy, too. I think I loved them, in some way, at least. All of them made me laugh, and they made me make sounds I used to think only Edward could. So I felt things. Lots of things. But you know what I never felt? I never felt like I was on a rollercoaster, at the very top, right before the drop. And they never made me feel all the things that happen in your stomach right after—they never made me feel sick, and happy, and scared, and delirious, all at once. This can't be real. It's just really, really wrong. He's just a guy. A boy. A man. Something. And it pisses me off, because there's no way he's feeling what I'm feeling right now. It doesn't look like he is.

I wonder what I look like. And then I stop, because that will just freak me out. I spot Rosalie pouring herself a glass of what looks like pink lemonade, and I start walking towards her. I never make it, because Edward spots me and waves. I wave back. He's in front of me like, two seconds later, and he's probably thinking, "what the fuck is that sound?" because my heart is being so annoying right now. Stop beating like that. Embarrassing.

"Hey, Edward."

"Hey, you look great."

"Thanks, you too."

"Is Jane here?" he asks.

"Um, no. Should she be?"

"Just wondering, I don't know…"

I shake my head. "Nope."

"Did you meet Heidi?"

"Yeah." I nod, smiling at the strange line of questioning I'm being subjected to.

"Cool."

I look up at him, and our eyes meet, and my mouth opens.

"You know, you didn't call, and that's—"

I stop myself before I prove just how stupid and sad I am.

"No, I was busy."

"I'm sorry. Ignore me. I don't know—"

"Listen," he starts, "I don't know why I asked for your number that night, or why I gave you mine. I don't think I can be friends with you."

Oh.

"I'm sure you're great," he continues, "and please feel free to go ahead and hang out with my cousin, but—"

"Why'd you just walk up to me? To tell me we can't be friends?" I ask.

"No…"

"Whatever, that's fine," I tell him.

"Okay, well—"

"Excuse me." I turn around and head back inside. I'm not staying here. Fuck Emmett and his kid. Fuck Rosalie and everyone else I sort of recognized. These people haven't been in my life for years, and I don't need them in my life now. My reaction should probably be tears, and sadness, and misery, but I'm just furious. What a dick. He doesn't want to be friends, and this is the perfect time and place for him to inform me of that decision. Rude. I don't want to be your friend either, asshole. I've been under the seemingly insane delusion that you're the love of my life. Go be friends with Emmett and Heidi. Fuck you.

I open the front door and as I'm closing it behind me, someone holds it and won't let go.

"You don't have to go."

"What do you want?" I ask him.

"I was rude."

"Not the first time."

"I'm really sorry, you were here to see your friends, and I chose a bad time—"

"Please," I interrupt him, "just let me go. I have no interest in being here, really."

"Even if that's true, what I did was wrong."

And then, because I have no pride or dignity left, and because I want to embarrass myself so completely that everyone will forever talk about how Bella Swan ran sobbing from her high school boyfriend after a six-year separation, I burst into tears.

"Shit, don't cry."

I turn around and walk away, to my car. I can hear him behind me, so I turn back to face him, and tell him I'm fine, and that he should go back inside. He doesn't, so I stand there, crying, in front of him. I want to do the usual thing people do in similar situations. Run off, get in their cars, slam the door, and drive off, leaving the asshole who hurt them behind. But I've spent six years of dreaming of this idiot, and he's right here. I'm not going to run away.

"Are you okay?" he asks me.

"No."

"Want to go back inside?"

"No."

He stands there, doing and saying nothing. I don't blame him. I have nothing I can say right now. I can't tell him that I want him to give me a chance to… to be with him. I can't tell him we need to talk, because I don't even know if I owe him an explanation. I can't beg him to hold me, even though it's all I want right now. I just want him to hold me. Like that will make everything better.

And I can't let him go without saying anything, so I wipe away the tears, and then the new ones that fall out, and I look up to say something, hoping it will just come to me. His arms are folded across his chest, and his hat is in his hand. His hair looks dumb. He takes a deep breath, and opens his mouth.

"The last time I saw you like this, I told you I loved you at least half a dozen times, and left thinking I had you, even if the words weren't spoken. I left thinking you were still my… girlfriend, and then you just disappeared without a word. I don't want to sympathize with you right now. I don't want to give a shit, but that's not the kind of man I am. Bella, what—"

And I grab his shirt, and my face is wet and sticky against the fabric, and his hands are warm on my shoulders first, and then my back. He stops speaking, and I know that this is where I have to start. But I'm just going to let him hold me first.

**So I set out to write a fluffy story about a girl, who has visions of a man, falling in love with the boy who would one day become that man. It turned into this mess. I hope you guys still like it, and if you do, please let me know. Your words mean so much to me, and I love your feedback, and getting to know you guys.**


	19. You're not hot

**Thanks to ciaobella27 for reading this and telling me when I sound stupid.**

**And thanks to writeontime for making this somewhat readable, and sprinkling commas everywhere, and telling me when I sound REALLY stupid. **

**I don't own Twilight.**

I guess it takes me a few seconds to realize that I'm holding onto, and crying in the arms of, a stranger.

"I'm sorry. God, you probably think I'm so crazy," I mumble as I release his shirt and take a step back.

"It's fine. Are you all right?" he asks me, his hands no longer on my back. He places his hat back on his head, and folds his arms across his chest.

"Yeah."

"Want to go back in now?"

"No, I'm going home."

He nods, reaching back with his hand to scratch the nape of his neck. We stand like that for a few seconds, doing nothing, saying nothing. I don't want to go home. I want to say things to him. I want to ask him questions. I don't know if he wants this, and I don't know how to ask. This man doesn't know that he's been in my head every day since he left. He doesn't know how important he is to me. To him, I'm some girl he dated years ago. I can't just expect him to stand there and listen to me pour my heart out and not think I'm crazy.

I think these thoughts, but just as soon as I do, I realize I'm wrong. I'm not just some girl he dated years ago. He admitted to me that I broke his heart. I owe him an explanation, and I have to say something. It's okay if he's over it and doesn't need to hear one now. I just need to say something.

And if I'm going to be completely honest with myself, it's more than that. Yes, I want to explain what was going on in my head back then, but I also just want more right now. I want to say more words, and hear more words. I'm practically desperate to keep him here for as long as he'll stay. You know when you'd do just about anything for a few more seconds? Just a few more? When you don't care what it takes? I'll go back inside, and I'll deal with Emmett's kid, and I'll eat burgers, and hot dogs, and whatever else Emmett makes, and I'll make small talk with people I don't give a shit about. I can do all of that if it means that when I look around, I'll see him standing there. And maybe if I'm lucky, he'll be standing close to me. Maybe if I say a few more words, he'll want to be my friend. Maybe if I say a few more words, he'll remember that years ago, when we were kids, he liked me. He liked my knees, and my skin, and he liked it when I lay under him. He was crazy about me. He loved me. He did all of this in a very, very short time span, but sometimes I think time is nothing, really. People stay together for decades, and know nothing about each other. We spent a few weeks together, and he became my life.

And that night, in the back of my truck, after he told me he was leaving, he told me I was his.

"Did you really want to stay together back then?" I ask him.

He sighs and looks at me like he's bored, like I'm the most annoying person he's ever encountered. "Are we really discussing this now?" he wants to know.

"Well I asked, so yeah."

"We're standing in front of Emmett's—"

"Yeah, I realize that. We can move. We can go—"

"Where, Bella?" he interrupts. "The diner? The beach?"

I know he's not being serious. He's attempting sarcasm, but too bad, he suggested it.

"Yeah."

I watch him consider this. He takes out his phone and types something, frowning as stares at the screen.

"Let's go."

My hands tremble as I search for my keys. I don't know if I can sit in the car with him—such a tight space. Right there. Next to him. I don't know if I can handle it. I don't know how to act. I don't know what to say. I don't know why we're doing this. It's crazy. Why is he agreeing to discuss this while taking a stroll down the beach? Forget being in the car with him—I can't go back there. Not there. Anywhere but that fucking beach… with him.

But I drive on, and fifteen minutes later, we're here. He's out of the car before I can say anything, walking ahead of me with his hands in his pockets. I have to run in order to keep up with him, and he turns back, a small smile on his face.

"Someone's out of shape," he says. "Did you give up running?"

"Excuse me?"

"You used to run around everywhere, climb things. Your cheeks would get pink, but you wouldn't be out of breath. Look at you now." He laughs.

I yank down my shirt, which has ridden up a bit. I feel fat and unattractive, with my stupid cheeks probably bright red, and I probably have a muffin top, and my hair…

"Relax, you look fine."

"Thanks. I look fine. This coming from the guy who used to say I was _so_ fucking hot."

"You were!"

"You're so mean!"

Edward stops laughing, and looks at me. "What do you want to hear? You're hot, Bella. Even with the weird hair, you're hot."

"Yeah, too late," I mutter.

It's pretty chilly out, so I wrap my arms around myself. Edward walks more slowly, so that he's not walking in front of me anymore, but he still keeps a safe distance from me. His lips look funny, like he's whistling, but no sound comes out. He catches me staring, and smiles.

"I was going to turn around and walk back into Emmett's earlier—I didn't want to come here. There's really nothing we need to discuss… but you know how sometimes you just agree to something anyway? Yeah, well…"

"Do you regret coming?" I ask.

"No. I've always liked this place."

"Yeah, it's gorgeous."

"Do you still spend a lot of time out here?" he asks me.

I shake my head. "No. I've been back like, twice? I don't know."

He doesn't say anything, but continues to walk down the beach.

"Edward, can I ask you a question?"

He shrugs, and nods. I take a deep breath. I let it go. I consider asking him a few different things, but ultimately decide to ask the most obvious question.

"If you thought we were together when you left, and didn't hear back from me, and couldn't get in touch with me, why didn't you ask someone where I was? I don't know, like, Jane? Or Jasper?"

"You're kidding, right?" he asks.

"What? No."

"What did you want me to do? Call up some people I barely knew and ask them why my girlfriend was ignoring my texts and calls?"

"I don't know, what if your girlfriend was dead?"

"Turns out she wasn't. And she wasn't even my girlfriend. I saved myself a lot of embarrassment," he says.

"But then you hung out with Jasper, you even saw Jane," I point out. "You never asked?"

"I didn't have to."

"What do you mean?"

"When Jasper saw me online and asked if I wanted to meet up in New York, I asked who he was coming to New York with. He told me I didn't have to worry, that you were back in Seattle. You were fine."

"Yes, but that was months after—"

"You changed your number. Or blocked me. I don't know what you did. Why do you care now, all of a sudden?"

"I didn't. I don't know. I…"

"Bella," he stops me, "we don't have to talk about this. It was a long time ago. I'm over it, and—"

"Are you? You're saying you're over it, but you seem pretty angry to me," I tell him.

"You're bringing shit up that reminds me of some of the worst times in my life."

"And you, you say things like that, that I broke your heart, and…and was responsible for some of the worst times of your life, and expect me to not want to apologize?"

"Fine, apologize. Bella, I don't—"

"You don't care. I get it. You have a life now. You had completely forgotten about me. I know. You have a girlfriend, and you're starting med—"

"Who told you I have a girlfriend?" he asks.

"I overheard Rosalie telling Felix… Why? Do you not have a girlfriend?"

"No, I do."

I nod. And those stupid tears are telling me, "Bella, we're about to come back. We're about to embarrass you again. You're about to cry like little a baby because Edward said he has a girlfriend. A girlfriend who's not you."

But I don't cry. I continue walking down the beach, and he follows me. He doesn't say anything when I sit on a large piece of driftwood, and I don't jump off the driftwood when I feel how damp it is. He sits next to me, and he doesn't jump off either. He stares at my fingers when I fumble with my lighter and pack of cigarettes. My face gets warm when I notice how the bright red polish I'm wearing has started to peel off. I drop the stupid pack, and a few cigarettes fall out. He helps me pick them up, and I mumble "thank you" before sitting back down. I light myself a cigarette before remembering to offer him one. He accepts, but looks angry when our eyes lock and stay that way while I'm lighting his cigarette with mine.

"I don't know why I asked you to come here," I start, "except I wanted to explain why I 'disappeared' like that. I can honestly tell you, and I hope you believe me, that I thought it was over between us. You said things in my room that people don't say if they want to continue a relationship. You were talking about going off to college, and being too young to be in a serious relationship. I don't know, I thought we were done. You waited until the last second, and I really thought you did that because you didn't want to give us a chance… that you didn't want to talk about possibly trying the whole long distance thing. And then yeah, you texted me that poem. I swear I thought that was goodbye. So yeah, I got a new phone, I begged my parents to get me a new number. Because I knew that if I didn't do that, I'd call you, or maybe you'd call me. I don't know. You were gone, and I didn't want to hear about your life in New York. I loved you too much, and it would have destroyed me. It was like… self-preservation or something. Clean break. I don't know."

Edward is silent for a while, and I'm about to get up and start walking back to the car, when he places a hand on my knee.

"Don't cry."

"I'm not…" But I am. "Shit. I really didn't want to cry. I'm so lame, Edward. You're probably like, what the fuck is wrong with her? She's crying over something that happened in high school. I'm not completely crazy," I tell him. "I swear, I'm sane."

Standing up, Edward chuckles, and holds his hand out for mine.

"Come on, it's getting cold."

When my hand touches his, I want to ask him a million questions. I want to start with the simplest: do you remember being here before? Do you remember what it felt like? Do you remember the things you said? The things we talked about? Did you know then that you turned my world around and made me feel more alive than I ever had before, than I ever have since. Do you realize that if you don't come back to me, three weeks six years ago will have been the best days of my life? Do you remember how we made people watching us sigh and wish they were us? Sigh and wish they were young again? Did you know back then that we were more than just two kids fooling around? Do you remember running back to my truck and being inside me until your mouth on mine was the only thing that could silence us? Keep us from being found? Do you, Edward? Because, God, I do. I remember everything. Shit, I remember your smell, and your taste, and how your hands looked on my knees. I remember how your palm covered so much of my skin that we'd stare in wonder, laughing and blushing, kissing and kissing until we had to go home. Would you have gone home if you knew that it wasn't going to last? Did you know you loved me when we were on the beach? And if you did, why didn't you tell me? I would have done anything for just a few extra minutes of knowing that, and being with you. Anything.

"No wonder you never come back here," he says as we walk back to the car. He doesn't let go of my hand.

XxXxX

After Edward and I returned to Emmett's, things were strange between us. We had been forced to acknowledge the hand-holding when we reached my car in the parking lot, and there were awkward apologies and red faces. Neither of us said anything on the ride back to Emmett's, and everyone stared at us when we walked into his living room, where half a dozen familiar faces had gathered because the sudden rain had put an end to the outdoor festivities. Emmett hadn't forgotten that I'd mentioned it was my birthday this weekend, so he made me blow out a candle on a cupcake, and he made Heidi help, which annoyed me. Edward noticed this and laughed. He mouthed "happy birthday" and ran a hand through his funny hair. I told him to put his hat back on. When it was time for me to leave, he walked me out, and we hugged. He promised he'd call before leaving Seattle, and I tried to apologize again… for the past, or for forcing him to spend an hour with me talking about things that didn't matter… I didn't know why I was apologizing. I still don't. Not that it matters, because he wouldn't let me apologize. He told me not to worry, things were cool.

Again, I don't know how to respond to that. Things are cool. I should be glad they're cool. I should be happy that he's not mad at me, that he's willing to see me again before he leaves, regardless of what he said about not being friends when he first saw me at Emmett's.

I should be happy, or at the very least, I shouldn't be sad. But God, I'm sad. I'm sad because he's not here right now. He's not here, and he's not going to be here tomorrow, or the day after, or next week, or next month. He has a life, and a girlfriend, and he got his closure, if that's what he was looking for, and we're even more done than we were six years ago, because apparently back then, we weren't done.

I sit in my room after watching some TV with my parents. I want to call Jane, but she's on a date with someone she met at the gallery last month. I don't like this girl. She's really young, and wants to be an artist, and I know she sees Jane as an 'in' or something. I can tell she's not into her. Jane can't. Jane sucks at everything related to dating, love, relationships. She can't separate sex from love. She can't have sex if she's not in love. When she thinks she's in love she wants to wait. She loses the person before she's ready. She ends up hooking up with someone random to get over the heartbreak, and then regrets it. Twice, she came running to me after this happened. We ended up making out and doing other things we didn't talk about in the morning. After the second time, I thought maybe she was still into me, but I realized I was probably being ridiculous. It's not always about me. She got fucked over, and I'm always around, and I guess when things happen, I have a hard time saying no. And Jane knows this. It was probably pretty fucked up, but both times, I couldn't stop what happened. The strangest part in all of this is that she went on like nothing happened. I moped around, wondered what was going on between us, considered going to her and asking if she wanted us to be more than friends. I wasn't sure I wanted to be more than friends, but I had to know what she was thinking and feeling—because if she still had romantic feelings for me, hooking up like that wasn't right.

On the other hand, I didn't know what I wanted. It sounds dumb now, but none of my relationships since Edward made me feel whole, and my friendship with Jane always had. So I brought this up with her, basically being like, "Um, hi, be my girlfriend?" because, you know, that's the logical next step after you hook up with your best friend. She laughed at me and I felt like an idiot. Rejection sucks, even if the whole thing was stupid to begin with. So I did what I usually do in these situations—I went back to an ex. That particular time, it was Riley, who's always ready for some action. We had lots of sex and I felt better. Jane just found someone new to fall in love with, and we never revisited the topic of being more than friends.

I wonder if she'll ever figure things out. She's beautiful, she's passionate, she's really, really hot. I have absolutely no experience with other girls, but I know that when we've hooked up, it's always felt just as good as it does with any guy. The little voice inside my head says "not Edward," but the little voice and I both know that I don't even consider him in the category of "any guy". No. He's in the "Edward" category. The "he's the fucking love of your life so he's better than everyone else" category.

Everything leads back to him. It used to drive me crazy. I used to hate him for it. Imagine being twenty-one, with a hot, smart, terrific guy in bed with you, who thinks you're the coolest thing ever. You're sitting there, after sex, after he's shown you the stars and moon and so many things with just a few thrusts and words and touches, and you're thinking, "nothing can be better than this." Then he gets up to walk over to the bathroom, and you notice he's put his grey underwear back on, and they remind you of that other guy. The guy you will be dreaming of at night, once the terrific one who just fucked you, and is about to take you to your favorite restaurant, has passed out next to you. Wonderful. Your evening is ruined. You're sad, and guilty, and the food tastes like shit. He asks you what's wrong, and you make something up. And there's no way the sex is going to be as good that night. And there's no way you're going to come without thinking of that other guy, the one whose fingers you used to kiss, one by one, until he pulled you to him because he missed your lips. That fucking guy who left. That idiot who told you he loved you over and over again, and made you believe you mattered just by appearing in a three-second dream.

Hate. Hate. Hate. I hate him so much.

And then he texts me, a little after midnight, after Jane and Felix have already texted me, wishing me a happy birthday. I ignore my best friend and my former boyfriend, and respond to his text only. I thank him. I wink. I dream of him all night. Except in these dreams, we're kids again, and he talks to my skin, and my hair, and my chest, and finally to me, and I never want to wake up, because this is the first time I've ever dreamed of the past. And the past is where I'm the happiest.

XxXxX

"So how was it?" Jane asks.

"Good. Good. I told you about my conversation with Edward." I stare at the painting she's working on. The brightest yellow and the brightest green on the canvas. My eyes hurt, and I look away. Sometimes I don't understand what she's trying to do, but someone out there does, because Jane is considered a young genius, and everyone wants a piece of anything she can give.

"Yeah, but that was what, a few hours out of the three days you spent in Forks? How are your parents doing? Did you see anyone else we know?"

"Emmett, his friend Nate from the football team, remember him? Rosalie, Royce was there again… Um, did I tell you I met Emmett's kid?"

Jane shakes her head. "Heidi? Cool."

"You know Heidi?" I ask her.

"Of course. She looks just like Em, doesn't she?"

I shouldn't be surprised that Jane has met Emmett's daughter. She goes home more often than I do. Her mother still lives in Forks, and her father lives in Port Angeles with his family. Jane has been trying to get to know her little sister, even though she'll never really accept her stepmother. I think it's more out of respect for her mother than anything else. The new Mrs. Whitlock is pretty cool. She's intelligent, and shares a lot of Jane's interests. She used to work at a gallery in Seattle. Then she met Jane's dad and decided that becoming a homewrecker was a better plan. It worked out for her. Now she's supermom, and they all seem happy. It pisses Jane off, and Jasper still hasn't spoken to his father. Jasper. I can't even think about that right now.

"Yeah, she looks like Em."

"So, did you have a good birthday?"

"It's still my birthday," I remind her.

"I know. I left your present at work, so you won't be getting it until tomorrow, but there's some champagne in the fridge if you want to get wasted."

"Always."

It's so easy to get drunk on champagne. It's all giggles and deliciousness and more, more until the bottle is empty and we're pouting. My phone rings a few times but I ignore it, because it's past ten, and I don't want to talk to Felix right now. Jane and I talk about her job, and my plans to move to New York. She's drunk, so she's supportive.

"I'll talk to Margaret. She knows so many people out there. You know a lot about art. Work at a gallery. Impress them with your French and Italian. I don't know, we'll figure it out," Jane promises. I nod, vigorously, and pointing to one of her paintings, start spewing out some nonsense about colors and different mediums in French. She laughs and tells me I sound like an idiot, but if I show my tits, this guy she knows will definitely hire me.

"Bella, it's your phone again," Jane whines.

"I don't want to talk to him," I whine back.

"It can't be Felix again. Just answer. My head hurts. Your ringtones suck."

"Fine."

I walk over to my phone, which has already stopped ringing. I was wrong about it being Felix. If I had known who was trying to call me, I would have picked up, and I would have been thrilled. And my heart would have gone crazy in my chest. Much like it is now.

I call back, no answer.

Jane and I decide to go to bed, where I sit, cross-legged, staring at my phone. I stroke the keys with my fingers, waiting for him to call, to try again. I'm not disappointed, because just after eleven, he does.

"Hey," I whisper, because if I whisper, this will be just about me, and him, and us, and it will be so, so good.

There's silence on the other end. I chant "talk, talk, talk, talk, talk" to myself, until he does.

"You're not hot," he tells me. "You used to be hot. I remember how excited I was that time we first went out. You looked incredibly sexy in your uniform, and I licked your stomach, and you didn't tell me to stop. The first time we had sex, all I could think was 'she's so fucking hot, and she's in my room, holy shit' and Bella, I've never had sex like that again. You were so hot, but now you're beautiful. How did you become so beautiful? I think my heart stopped when I saw you at Royce's party last week. You are so beautiful."

"Edward?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you drunk?" I ask him.

"Stupid drunk."

"Thought so."

"Bella? Can I come over?"

"I'll text you the address."

**Let's hope Edward doesn't get lost on his way to Bella's, if he decides to show up. That would be the most boring chapter ever.**

**Guys, as always, thanks so much for the support. You rock. I'm sending out some Edward this time around, because I love you.**


	20. But I want to know you

**Thank you to WriteOnTime, who's an awesome beta, an amazing friend, a wonderful human being. Ciaobella27 is pretty cool too. She writes erotic poetry on gchat to entertain me. I love them a lot.**

**I don't own Twilight. **

I hate comparing incomparable things, but sometimes you can't help it, and you just do in your head. Right now, moments after I texted Edward my address, I remember the few times in my life when I felt like this. My stomach is in knots. I can't sit still. The seconds pass by like hours. I'm not going to have any hair left on my head. My heart is pounding so hard and so fast that I have to take deep breaths to keep it together, but taking these deep breaths only manages to freak me out more, and I smoke cigarette after cigarette, unable to light the next one fast enough.

The last time I felt this way—felt this amount of anxiety—was when I found out about my father's heart attack. I sat there in the waiting room, feeling exactly like I do now. The doctors couldn't give us news fast enough. I couldn't see my dad soon enough. It was excruciating; it was unbearable. I feel guilty comparing tonight to that night, but it's just how I feel. I tried to shake it away, but if I have to be honest with myself, the anxiety I feel right now, while wondering whether or not Edward will show up, is just like the anxiety I felt when I didn't know whether my father was going to live or die. It's not quite as bad as the first time I felt this way—during the few minutes it took to find out if I was pregnant with Riley's kid. That ended well—no one was pregnant. My father made it, and is strong and healthy now, so I can only hope… And isn't that just what we all want? The mere ability to hope that the thing we want might actually happen? Could actually be a possibility? There is nothing as beautiful as hope. There's also nothing as dangerous.

Because when you've waited for so long—whether it's minutes for a pregnancy test, hours to find out about the outcome of your father's surgery, or years to get the boy you loved back—hope can either help the worst moments of your life pass, or it can destroy everything. And if I allow myself to hope now, and if he doesn't come, and if he returns to New York and three weeks in high school is everything I'll ever have… I don't know. I don't know.

While I sit, and wait, and try not to hope, I can't help but wonder what I should actually be doing. Isn't this where I'm supposed to go into my room and change into something cute? Maybe brush my teeth and my hair, find some perfume, a hot bra? Isn't this where I make sure he sees the hottest version of Bella he's ever seen when I open the door for him? So that he falls to his knees and says it's always been me, me, me for him, and that he's never wanted anyone as much as he wants me?

Fuck that. Bella in a grey t-shirt and black jeans is what Edward gets now. Bella with the mess on the top of her head. Bella with no makeup. Bella smelling like champagne and okay pizza topped with onions and olives. Bella with chipped nails and a mouth that can't fucking lift up into a smile.

What I want from Edward, what I expect from my dreams, as well as from the boy I knew years ago, is more than a night of crazy sex fueled by alcohol and lust and feelings that never really went away. God, I want him, but if he can't take me and love me the way I look tonight, then everything I've seen, everything I know, is bullshit.

I'm not thinking straight. I'm not making sense. He's probably not coming, and if he is, he's not coming to express his love and devotion for me. And if that's what he's coming for, there's the complication of the girlfriend. And if he doesn't care enough not to cheat on her, he's not worth my time. And if he doesn't want to cheat on her, why is he coming at this hour, drunk, tonight? What does he want from me? He said I'm beautiful. He said his heart stopped when he saw me. Who says these things if they don't mean them, regardless of how drunk they are?

Questions. Always more and more questions. I'm so fucking sick of them. I'm so sick of him somehow creeping back into my life, whether through a dream, or a conversation about his cousin, or whatever. I can have a good life without him, a real life without him. I can't sit here waiting for him, waiting for this man to come into my home, this man who I don't really know. I don't know what he's been up to. I don't know if he starts random affairs with women after a few drinks make it seem like a good idea. I don't know if he even needs these drinks, or if he'd do it anyway. I don't know if he loves his girlfriend, if he wants to be with her, marry her. I don't know if he takes her to beaches, and says things that make her head spin. I don't know if he looks at her like everything begins and ends in her eyes, in a single touch between them. I don't know. He could be the world's biggest charlatan. The world's biggest player. He could be nothing more than a fucking dream. But I, Bella Swan, am desperate enough right now to allow him into my life. And there's nothing I want more than to have him lay me down on my stupid futon, and cover me with his body, and say Bella over and over again in his hard, soft voice. But if he does, I know that everything will be wrong. And yet I know I'll let it happen, because I'm weak. I make mistakes. And this is a mistake I could potentially make over and over again. But it's the one mistake I'll never forgive myself for making.

The buzzer rings. The buzzer buzzes, as Jane says. I scrape the last bit of red nail polish off my thumb with my teeth, and let him up. He takes longer than most people do to reach the door. Maybe he's reconsidering. Maybe he knows it's wrong. Maybe at this point I can actually hope that he wants me so badly, misses me so much, is so drawn to me, that he can't help himself. Just for a second, let me hope… that's all I ask.

He's here. I open the door. He's a mess. His hat is crooked and he hasn't shaved. His shirt is improperly buttoned, and he is holding several crumpled-up dollar bills in his hand. He looks at me with a frown on his face. Doesn't he like what he sees? Is there something wrong with me—other than the obvious, of course? Other than the messy clothes and bad hair and eyes full of every single tear I've wanted to shed over him for the past six years.

He shoves the money into his jacket pocket and takes off his hat, moving a hand through his hair. He takes a deep breath, he lets it go, he continues to frown. And I wanna be like, get out of here, motherfucker. How dare you come back to me with a frown like that? How dare you stand here and make me feel inadequate? How dare you have this much power over my life? Waiting for you feels as miserable as waiting to find out if my dad died felt. You piece of shit. Making me feel bad about everything the other day. Yes, I ignored your calls—after you kept vital information from me for days. You left, and I know it wasn't your choice to leave, but you left with a few "I love you, buts" that broke my heart in so many pieces that no matter what you do right now, it won't ever be the same.

I love you, but we're young.

I love you, but what about college?

I love you, but I have to go.

How is any of that equivalent to "You're my girlfriend, Bella Swan, and even though I'm leaving, we're still together?"

It's not. So fuck you. Turn around and leave. Don't look at me like that. I'd give up my life for yours fifty times over if it meant I didn't have to see you sad. The least you could do is give me a smile.

"What do you want?" I ask him.

"You said I could come over."

"Why are you here?"

"I… I don't know," he stutters.

He makes me mad. So mad.

"You don't know... Let's play a game," I suggest. "You tell me exactly what you're thinking. Tell me what you're feeling. Don't mask anything, don't hide anything. Just say it. I don't want to hear 'I don't know' tonight. I don't want stupid questions, and fake answers. Why are you here?" I repeat.

"I really don't know."

I shake my head. I raise my arm, which is trembling, and point to the door behind him.

"Bella…"

"Why are you here?"

"I want to be. I want to be here, because you're here. I want to be where you are."

"Why?"

He closes his eyes, and takes another deep breath.

"I don't fucking know."

"Please—"

"If you want me to leave, I'll go. Fucking cabs here are not easy to find, and it took me forever… I'll just go."

"You're drunk. Just stay," I tell him.

"Actually…"

"What?"

He is so pink right now. I'm so aggravated. I thought he'd grown up. He's still weird, and doesn't talk, and he's so… he's not the guy I spent time with the other day. What the fuck? This sort of regression only happens to me.

"Is it okay if I use your bathroom?" he asks.

"Sure. Of course. It's down the hall, first door. It's open."

"Thank you."

Edward Cullen comes over after six years to pee in my apartment. I stand in the middle of the living room, and start giggling. I walk over to the couch and sit on the armrest, waiting for him to come back.

He comes out, wiping off his hands on his jacket. I raise an eyebrow when he looks at me, and point out that we have towels, and that they're clean. He smiles, and shrugs.

"I'll just leave now," he says.

"I knew it. You came over to use my bathroom," I joke.

"I have a thing about clean bathrooms. I never use public ones, and Rose's place was too far. I thought, hey, maybe Bella lives nearby."

"Do you think about me often?" I blurt out.

"I don't know." My eyes follow him as he walks over to the table where I study and Jane eats. He places his hands on the table and stares down at the pile of books.

"You wanted honesty, right?" he asks me. I nod.

"Well," he continues, "I used to think about you a lot. Morning, noon, night. It was an obsession. I was so in love with you at one point, that I actually didn't want to contact you. I was too scared of the idea of speaking to you again. I was content with just dreaming and wishing. I had pictures of you on my phone, and I'd stare at them all day. I'd save them onto my laptop, and delete them from my phone, thinking, fuck it, I can't keep these forever. But they were on my laptop, so I'd stare again. They were creepy pictures, too. I deleted all the ones of us. You know, the ones I'd take when we were lying around. I deleted those. They made me sick. But the ones of just you… shit, Bella—I kept those for years. I kept those through girlfriends and my first two years of college. I moved in with this one girl, she was way older than me, and I'd stare at them when I'd get high in her bed. I pretended to be an artist, and she thought you were my muse. She said you were cute, wholesome. But everything I thought when I stared at those pictures… definitely not cute or wholesome. Everything was about you. Then, it went away, slowly. I stared less, I forgot the folder, my laptop died and I never downloaded the pictures from the emails I'd sent to myself from my phone. You were in my head, but there were new things. New cities, new people, new shit all the time. But every time I'd see a skinny brunette with a nice ass walk by—especially if she played with her hair, or seemed a little nervous and lost—I'd remember you. I'd remember rain and cold saltwater and that nasty fucking yogurt you'd eat every morning. No one's hair was as soft…

"Then I ran into Chelsea at a party, and by then, you were the chick who broke my heart, and I could talk about you when I got drunk. You know, when you're sitting around, bonding with people? Getting high, or maybe just sitting, getting to know each other, discussing past loves. You know those conversations, with people you think are the ones. Your best friends. The group you'll hang with forever. A bunch of random people connected because, I don't know, their parents could all afford to send them to an expensive school and they happened to be assigned rooms next door to each other. Or people you met when they were assigned to be part of a group in a lame class. Late nights, on someone's roof on the East Side, I'd talk about you. They'd tease me about the girl from the hick town who broke my heart. I'd laugh and wonder what you were up to. Were you knocked up by some loser back in Forks? Were you mom to a bunch of kids who made you miserable? Maybe you named one of them Eddie because you remembered me… God, it made me feel good, thinking you were back in that fucking town, and my friends and I would laugh—and yeah, it was Bree, I think, who decided you had a kid named Eddie. We bonded over this shit. Not funny, huh?

"Anyway, Chelsea. Chelsea is amazing. She's hot, she loves me, she says she'll move here if I decide to go to school here. She'll fucking leave her job, and move here for me. And what do I do? I come over here to get laid, presumably. I tell you you're beautiful, and I come here. I don't know why I'm here. Maybe I want that one last fling. Maybe I want to humiliate you, just once, make you remember how good this was, and then leave. Maybe I know you'll let me fuck you, because you don't look like you give a fuck either way. I don't know, Bella."

"Get out."

He doesn't leave. Instead, he walks over and sits on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, his face in his hands.

"Edward, get out."

"You wanted honesty," he finally says.

"You…you came here for sex? You came here to humiliate me? You mocked me with your friends? Go. I've spent years dreaming of you. You… you—"

"Why?" he asks. "Why did you dream of me? Why was I so special?"

"You just were. And… shit, so was I. You just told me. Explain how you could just come here for sex? Are you really here to hurt me? I'm asking because… I need to know who you are. I just do. And if you're the guy who comes over in the middle of the night to fuck an ex girlfriend because his current girlfriend is in a different time zone, I need to know that. Or if you're the guy who… I don't even know. Revenge, Edward? Were you serious?"

He shakes his head back and forth. He looks up into my eyes, and he must see the tears in them, because he looks around, and when he finds the box of tissues on the coffee table, he reaches for them. He hands two to me. Our hands touch, and he doesn't let my hand go. He holds it between his hands, squeezes it. We sit like this for a while, as I wipe away the old tears and the new ones. We move closer, although I don't think we realize what we're doing as it happens.

"You're so beautiful. It's unfair. I'm so sorry for what I said, but you wanted honesty."

He stops, and lets go of my hand. "I could never… 'fuck' you. I'm with Chelsea. I came here tonight because I couldn't help myself, but I love Chelsea. She's really wonderful, but… I want to know you. The idea of going back to New York, not knowing you…"

It's my turn to shake my head back and forth. "Edward, you're here because you want to be my friend? What if that's not what I want from you, after all these years? How is that… fair?"

"What if that's all I can give? If you really thought about me all these years, if what we had was so important to you, and played such a big part in your life, can you honestly say that you don't want to know me? That you don't want to be my friend?"

"You came over just to reject me," I whisper.

"No, no, no."

"Yeah. You came over in the middle of the night to say you want to have sex with me, but you won't, because you're in love with someone else, so you want to be friends."

"I don't know what I came here for. I won't say that sex didn't cross my mind. In fact, I just admitted that it did, but I'm saying I won't have sex with you."

"Good."

"Good?" he asks.

"Yeah. I'd never want to be your friend if you just… I don't want you to be that person," I explain.

"You're so confusing. You want us to sleep together, but you don't want me to have sex with you. What do you want, Bella?"

I move even closer to him, and our legs are touching. He grabs my knees and pulls me even closer, until my legs are resting over his.

"I want you to not leave like last time," I confess. "I want to know you, too."

"I… I don't want to say this, but it's possible that I'll be coming back. For school. If you want… if you think we… shit. No."

I know what he's saying. He wants to give me hope, he wants to have some for himself, but giving me that hope is like opening the door to something… and he can't do that.

"I know…"

"We shouldn't be sitting like this. I shouldn't have told you you're beautiful so many times… but it's the simplest truth I know."

"I want to be your friend," I tell him, reaching up to touch his hair. He doesn't protest. He leans into my touch. He closes his eyes. His face is in my shoulder. I hold him close to me like this. "Be my friend. Stay here."

"Friends don't…" he starts.

"We do."

XxXxX

So he stays. He stays and falls asleep on the couch. I lie on my stomach on the floor and watch him. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know where this is going. Probably nowhere. He is with someone else, and he's devoted to her, to some extent. He won't cheat on her, but I think he already has, even if he doesn't know it. I feel powerful, I feel victorious. I also feel dirty, and the guilt eats away at me. So he didn't lay me down and fuck me like he used to. So what? He held me for the longest time, and stroked my hair, and talked about my face and what it did to him then, what it does to him now. He doesn't want me to love him—except he does—but his actions make me love him more. If we'd had sex, it would have been easier to hate him, to feel disgust, or pretend to feel it, at least.

It's so easy to fake emotions sometimes, or to react in certain ways, just to feel like you have some sense of morality left. Did I just have sex with that married guy? I'm so disgusting. I feel so guilty. But do I, really? Or did it actually feel awesome? Do I really care about a complete stranger I don't know, and her feelings? Come on. We're all selfish creatures. And no, I haven't had sex with married men, but the intimacy I shared with Edward last night came close—minus the guilt society says I should have. Because there's no ring, no vows, no children—as far as I know. So it's a grey area. We hung out, touching in a very 'platonic' way, and talked for hours. That's fine. I don't need to pretend to feel bad, but I still do, because maybe that will make me a better person? But I know better. I'm not being honest with myself, and maybe that's what is making me feel sick right now. The dishonesty.

I keep telling myself that this is okay. All night long, I've been convincing myself that a friendship will suffice. I can do this. I can be happy. Edward, as a friend. A soul mate who I don't sleep with. A soul mate who is mates with someone else. What the fuck? I know, deep down, that this is a lie. The biggest lie, and yet, out loud in my head—because I have different voices talking in there all the time—I say it's fine. I can be happy. We can be friends. It goes back to desperation. That need to keep him close. I'm willing to lie to myself to make that happen. And this sickens me. Sick. Sick. Sick. So wrong.

How far will I go? How far can this go? I want to shake him awake and ask him these questions. I want, I want, I want.

"Bella?"

I turn to see Jane standing a few feet away at me, staring at Edward's sleeping form.

"Is that…?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, shit."

"Nothing happened," I whisper.

"I hope not," she whispers back.

It's none of her business, and normally I'd tell her this, but I'm in no mood to argue. She can judge away. I stand up and walk to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. When I'm done, I return to the living room to find Edward awake, rubbing his eyes and staring at his phone.

"Hey." He smiles.

"Good morning."

"Did you sleep well?"

I nod. "You?"

"This is the most comfortable couch I've ever slept on," he says, grinning. He looks tired, and I want to sit next to him and bring his head to my lap. I want to play with his hair until he falls asleep again. I need to stop wanting.

"Are you sure you don't want to go back to sleep?" I ask him. "It's still pretty early."

"Yeah, I kinda do," Edward admits. "Oh, Jane just left. I stood up to say hey, but she was…"

"Weird? Cold? Awkward?"

"Yes, yes, and yeah, a little bit." He laughs.

I smile and walk over to the couch, sitting on the armrest in an attempt to keep some distance between us.

"If you'd like, you could sleep in my room. More privacy… I don't know."

"It's fine here. How did you sleep?" he asks.

"I… didn't really."

"No? Shit, Bella. You need to rest. Come on, this couch is big enough for both of us."

"No, Edward…"

He's so fast. He grabs me and pulls me down so quickly that I'm completely caught off guard. I used to be just as strong as him. Not anymore. I'm lying down on the couch now, and my head is in his lap, and his fingers are in my hair, and I smile, and he smiles back.

"What are you thinking about?" he wants to know.

"You."

"What about me?"

"So many things. Does it matter what exactly?"

He considers this for a second. "No, I guess not. But I'd like to know because I'm curious."

"Too bad," I tease. "Oh, so, tell me about New York."

I want to know about the city I plan on moving to, and I meant to ask him about it last night, but other things were whispered, and who gives a fuck about New York?

"New York, is… a fun place to be when you're our age. Everyone can find something they're interested in. Plus, the girls are hot."

"You said Chelsea's hot," I remind him.

"Yeah, she is."

"What does she look like?"

"Wanna see?" he asks me, reaching for something in his pocket.

"No."

"Oh…" A few seconds later he follows up with, "Good."

"Awkward…"

He laughs. "You make it awkward."

"My feet hurt."

"Why?"

"I don't know, they just do," I tell him.

"You're so… random."

"Yeah. Your lap is comfy."

"Thanks," he says. "You're so light. I mean, your head."

"Oh thanks, Edward. You know, I'm an airhead. I'm—"

"Shut up, Swan."

"Stop playing with my hair," I whine.

"Why? It's soft."

"It's gross, and it feels weird—I hate this length."

"Do you need me to say it again?"

"What?"

"You," he says, "are beautiful."

"You're such a good friend, telling me I'm beautiful all the time…"

He grins at me. "You slept in your jeans?" he asks, hooking a finger into one of the belt loops.

"I told you, I didn't really sleep."

"When's your first class?"

"Fuck class."

"Bella…"

"No really," I insist. "Fuck class. I never go to my Monday classes. How can anyone expect me to go to class on a Monday? Or a Friday. Dude, I'm just taking a few language classes that I need in order to graduate, and I'm done, and I get to do whatever."

"What's whatever?" he asks.

"I'm not sure. I hear I'll have to get a job. Jane said she'd help me find something. We talk about moving to New York, but she changes her mind every day."

"Yeah, you mentioned that last night."

"I just… I don't know…"

"I hate New York," he blurts out.

"What?"

"I mean, I love it, but I'm sick of it. I'm so ready to… I don't know. But if you come, I'll show you around. You should visit, soon, before I…"

"Where do you want to go?" I ask him.

"Next question." He smiles. I reach up and run my fingers up and down his side, he giggles, and I call him a girl. So ticklish. I stop.

"No really, is New York that bad?"

"It's not. If that's what you want, to move to New York, you should go for it. But you should see it first. I mean, I could live there for the rest of my life and not be miserable… In fact, given the right circumstances, it could be the greatest city in the world."

"The greatest city in the world," I repeat.

"Yeah."

"When you moved to Forks, and we started hanging out, Forks was the best place in the world, ever."

"I know," he tells me.

We talk about different cities, and he asks me about my time in Paris, my trips to Italy and Brazil. I find myself going in and out of consciousness, and he half carries, half walks me to my bed. When I'm under the covers, and he's not looking, I take off my pants and throw them to the floor. The sound that results gets his attention, and he looks away. I tell him to join me and sleep some more, and he does. He says he's not cold, and doesn't need a cover. We sleep and talk all day until Jane returns. I jump into the shower and when I get out, they're sitting together on the couch. They look up when they hear me, and Jane looks annoyed, and Edward looks… so much like the kid who threw Jasper's white t-shirt to the floor and made me drink more and more wine, and touched me all night. I wonder what he'd do or say if Jane weren't here. I smile at him, a smile that says come inside and I'll drop this towel, and you can stare all you want. A smile that says I'd be willing to give you anything right now. This smile makes him frown, it makes him blush, it makes me disappear into my room, feeling stupid and excited and crazy all at once. I put on some shorts and a sweatshirt, and walk back out. Jane is gone, and Edward is watching the news. I order us some pizza and sit next to him. He kisses the top of my head and calls me sunshine. I tell him he's a loser.

God, this life. Today. Today is all I want, but forever. He's so funny, and smart, and explains things to me, and lets me explain things to him. He doesn't know much about the art world, even though he pretended to be all bohemian artist for a while a few years ago. He thought buying some supplies and looking like a mess was sufficient, and for most stupid girls looking for that sort of thing, it probably was. I realize my entire world is Jane's, and while I love it, I agree with him when he says I need to find something I want to do. I tell him I don't know what that is. He says he has no idea what he wants, either. He doesn't want to be a doctor. I ask him what he wants right now, most of all. He says pizza in Seattle. I confess that pizza in Seattle is what I want, too.

**Yeah, so… thoughts?**

**Anyway, you guys need to read **_**And With Thee Fade Away.**_

**Oh, and read **_**The Cullen Campaign**_**. It's really, really, really fun. I'd find the link or the author's name, but I'm lazy. Like Edward said in Twilight, you can Google it.**

**xoxo**


	21. I'll hold you the tightest

**You guys rock. **

**Writeontime edits my stuff, and she's really, really wonderful.**

**Ciaobella27 reads my stuff and tells me if I'm being stupid, and I like her feet…hair, whatever.**

**I'm so drunk.**

**I don't own Twilight. If I did, I would have made Kristen Stewart audition in a tiny room with me all day, just because I wrote the damn thing and I could. Sigh.**

"What?" I ask him, when he's been staring at me for a little too long.

"I'm just waiting for you to tell me it's time for me to leave."

I pretend to look at my watch, and shake my head. "Nope, not time yet."

"Ah, so you _will _eventually make me leave."

I shrug. "Do you think it's time for me to ask you to leave?"

Edward stretches his arms above his head and doesn't say anything. He sits back and rubs his belly, groaning as I nudge the box containing the last slice of pizza towards him.

"Or," I continue, "is it time for you to bring it up because it makes you feel better knowing that you brought it up and didn't just stay here all night again?"

"Or… just shut up and come here," he says.

But I can't go there—'there' being his lap, which he's patting with one of the hands I've been watching all day. God, I want to go there. And I know he wants me to go there. I knew when he held me by the waist as I was trying to pay the delivery guy, pulling me to him and whispering in my ear that he's got it, he can pay, I've been the best host and I should let him get the pizza. I knew when his thumb was on the corner of my mouth, where a glob of sauce had been sitting, causing him to laugh at me while I told him a story. I knew when I was pouring us wine and he stood behind me, too close for it to be a friendly thing. Too close to help me forget every dream I've had, every moment I've spent with him. I really wanted to turn around quickly, touch his face with my mouth… slowly, so slowly, because I can't just go for his lips. I think I'd die. I'd need to ease into it. Maybe first a cheek, then the nose, then the jaw, the chin. I could never go for the mouth first. And if I did, I'd never be able to stop. I'd give him six years' worth of kisses. I'd give him everything I've felt, every word I've wanted to say. I'd give him all of me, and I'd let him do anything. I'd be number two to his number one girl. I'd be his quick fuck. I'd be the love of his existence. Anything he asked.

So fucking scary.

I don't want to ignore his request, but I don't want my head back in his lap. I certainly don't want to sit there right now, because my lips might find his neck again… just like they did earlier. It was easy to pretend I didn't mean to do it that first time, and to continue pretending, like I didn't feel how much he liked what I did. But if I were to do it again… I mean, he's not stupid. And he wants it, but I know he'll hate me if we end up kissing necks and feeling parts of each other and turning this couch into the place where every single one of my dreams comes true.

So, instead, I put my feet up on the couch, and bring them to his lap.

"It's past midnight," he says.

"Yeah."

"I should get going if I want to get back to Rose's."

"Yeah."

"You have pretty feet."

"I know."

"I'm tired."

"So stay."

He stays. He sleeps on the couch. No one sleeps in my bed.

XxXxX

I wake up alone. For a second—not even a second, really—I think he's gone, he left, but then I hear the sound of the shower, and I know it's him, because Jane never came home last night. I wonder where she is. I tried calling her a few times because I was worried, but she never picked up. She finally responded to a text I had sent telling me she'd be back today. Maybe she's getting lucky.

You know who isn't getting lucky? Bella Swan.

Bella Swan slept on the couch with Edward Cullen last night, and nothing happened. Nothing happened. Except his body was warm, and soft, and very, very hard. Except his breath was on her skin and kept her up for hours. Hours of Edward Cullen behind her, on the couch, barely touching, but touching enough for her to lose her mind. She could have shifted a little, maybe turned around and slept with her head on his chest. She could have, but she didn't.

Fuck. Why didn't I just touch him? I've never been that aware of anyone, or anything before last night. Every breath he took, every tiny movement he made… It was like I'd been there before, experienced it a lifetime ago… but I couldn't place it. It wasn't even nice—it was difficult. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't move, I couldn't turn around and rub up against him until I came alive again. I felt like that's exactly what I needed—to rub up against him until I managed to crawl into him, under his skin, feel warm and whole forever… Is that even possible? I think it can be. I think we can be. I don't know. I don't know what to do anymore. I don't know how to face him this morning.

I must have drifted off at some point last night, because at around four, I woke up to find my hand between my legs. And I was squeezing my legs, trying to feel something, achieve something. I was panting, and sweaty, and God, he was right there behind me, still asleep. I've ached before, so many times. I've ached in good ways, in bad ways. I've felt the ache in my chest; sometimes it was sweet, and sometimes it was so, so sad. But last night, my entire body ached. For him, for us, to be eighteen again, to be free of… everything, to be attached to something forever. And I had a choice right then—get up and go to my room and leave him on the couch, or stay with him until he struggled out of my grip and ran for his life.

I stayed. And now he's in the shower. He'll come back out and leave soon, and for the second time in our lives, I'll be the girl he left behind in Washington. I want to say I don't care, but I do. At the same time, I don't care, at all, because he's here. I want to be anything of his, but this? God, I really, really don't just want to be the girl he always leaves behind.

I hear silence in the bathroom, then a "fuck" and a loud noise. He flings open the door and smiles big when he sees me looking over at him from the couch. I wave and his smile grows bigger. His dirty clothes that he's been wearing for days are in his hands. I jump up and run to my room. There are t-shirts that will fit him here, I think. But I can't give him shirts other men have worn, so I go to Jane's room and look for some of Jasper's stuff that he left here the last time he visited. Things didn't go too well during that visit, and he left without taking whatever was in the laundry that morning. So Edward can wear Jasper's t-shirt and basketball shorts.

"Are you sure?" he asks when I hand the clothes to him. "Won't the owner of these garments get upset if he—"

"Jasper doesn't care. He hasn't been back to claim them, so you're good. See? They smell nice and fresh, like you."

"Thanks, Bella."

Before he can say goodbye, or anything else, I run into the bathroom and jump in the shower. I've been wearing shorts, and I need to shave. My hair is disgusting, all greasy and shiny in the worst way possible. I brush my teeth, wash my face, make sure I smell like delicious things people want to eat, and ten minutes later, I join Edward on the couch. He's carefully following some boring banter between two pundits. He reaches out for me and pulls me to him, until my head is resting on his shoulder. He looks down at me and laughs. I'm not sure what's so funny. I'm wearing an old tank you can totally see through, and shorts so short they probably belonged to Jane in their earlier days. I'm not wearing anything I wouldn't wear after a shower on any other day. Edward just happens to be here, and he thinks there's something funny on my face, or my chest, or somewhere.

"What?"

"You look really young," he tells me.

"Um, okay. Creepy."

"No, like, right now, you look like the old Bella."

"I thought you said I looked young."

"You know what I mean." He smiles and leans back, closing his eyes and shaking his head. He stands up and walks over to the kitchen. I lie down with my head on the armrest, waiting for him to return. He does, with two granola bars, one of which he throws at me.

"Rude," I remark.

"What was that?"

"Rude," I repeat, in a higher voice.

And he's tickling me, and it's so nice. And I'm kicking him, not hard, but just enough to get a rise out of him and make him pin me down and tickle hard. And I'm screeching, and he's laughing, and he grabs my thigh and pushes it back, and his mouth… his mouth is on the back of my knee. Soft, soft. Wet. Is this how I was supposed to feel his tongue so many years later? Teasing the back of my knee, the most sensitive place ever, killing me, and it's only been a second, but I'm quiet again, and I'm willing to give up anything and everything just to feel that one more time.

"Shit."

Yes, well… shit.

"I'm so sorry," he says, letting me go. Except he hasn't really let me go. He's lying on top of me, sort of hovering, but more like covering my body with his body. And my knees hate being under him like this, so I move my legs until they're wrapped around Edward, and a sweet, low sound from him makes me smile against his shoulder.

"You're really soft, Bella."

I nod.

"So soft," he says.

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

He's breathing on my shoulder. His breath is warm, and different from anyone else's. And it's here, on me, just like I've dreamt for years. And it's here, up and down from my ear to my shoulder and back, and maybe his lips are there too, but I can't be sure. Maybe there are lips, maybe it's just breath, and it doesn't matter because it's the best.

"You're softer than you were then," he tells me. "Your cheeks, and your shoulders… you're so… Shit, Bella."

Is he saying I'm fatter than I used to be? That I've softened? It doesn't matter, because his words are so good, and they make me feel like nothing bad can ever happen to me again. They make me hope, and they make me want to dream dreams of us again.

"I can't."

"Too late," I point out.

He says nothing for a while, but holds me tight and squeezes hard, like I would hug my dad after a particularly bad fall, or my mom when I'd find her crying in the kitchen.

"I have to stop," he says, and his lips finally, definitely touch my skin, and there's a gentle trembling where his chin meets my shoulder.

"But… but what if I have to know that you want me?" I ask, not sure where these words are coming from, because they sound strange and needy, and make me feel a little sick.

"What if I have to have this?" I continue.

He moves against me, like other men have before him, and also like he did before any other man, and silently tells me he does want me. He doesn't get it.

"I'm not talking about a natural physical reaction to being close like this… I meant… really want me." My voice breaks on the last few words, and I don't want to cry again.

He squeezes again, sitting up and bringing me with him. He holds me tighter. He opens his eyes and brings his mouth so close to mine. I whisper "tighter" and his forehead meets mine, and his arms are so tight around me, I could break.

"I'll hold you the tightest," he says.

Pretty boys shouldn't be allowed to use pretty words, or convey pretty emotions. It's just not fair, because if I end up with a random guy, say Tom, Dick, or whoever, fifty years from now, what I'll remember is Edward Cullen, holding me like he'll die if he lets me go, almost kissing me and saying things that make my heart soar to heights from which I can never bring it back. So poor, poor men of my future. You now have two Edwards to compete with, and lose against.

And the thought of other men makes me want to cry, so I close my eyes and say a prayer, like I have a million times before today. Please, please let me have him, please let him love me, please let me be with him, please, please, please.

XxXxX

We sit like this for a while, we talk and hands don't touch, but our bodies are stuck to each other in delicious ways. I don't know if Edward hears Jane come in, but I don't. I'm too busy telling stories against his neck, whispering "tighter" when it's not tight enough.

I know Jane is here when she says my name in her loudest voice. I jump up, and turn to her, asking what she wants from me.

"Can we talk? In my room?" she asks.

"Sure. I'll be right back," I tell Edward.

I follow Jane into her room and watch her take off her jacket and fling it towards the bed. It misses the bed and falls on the floor, so I pick it up. She grabs it from me and throws herself onto the bed, covering her face with her hands.

"Jane, I have a guest out there, so if—"

"What the… what the eff are you doing, Bella? Has he left since… Bella, he has a girlfriend."

"Is this what you wanted to talk about? Nothing even happened, we—"

"Nothing happened? You were… Bella, he has a girlfriend."

"Say it one more time, Jane, I'm not sure I understand. What was that? What does he have?"

"Why are you so stupid?" Jane asks, sitting up and turning to look me straight in the eye. "He's just… you're being so stupid right now. You know he's going to go back in a few days, and you'll be a mess, and I'll be picking up—"

"Picking up what? The pieces of my broken heart?"

"Yes, those. Just like I did the last time he left. And this time, Bella, it'll be worse, because he's going back to his girlfriend."

"Oh, _God_."

"Yeah, exactly. Oh God. I just… I don't want you to be stupid. I don't want you to make a mistake. You're better than this," Jane tells me.

"Better than what? What? Look at me," I say, pointing to myself. "I… this is what I…"

"Look at you? I'm looking, and Bella, you're gorgeous, and smart, and maybe a little lazy, but you have a bigger heart than anyone else I know. You're compassionate, and kind, and funny, and you're going to be so good at whatever you do. You're perfect, but you let him walk in here and use you like, like you're worth nothing more than—"

"You're a liar. You pity me, you've been feeling sorry for me for years. Now I'm 'perfect'? Really? And he's not using me, he hasn't even…"

"But he will, if you give him that power, Bella, he will."

I shake my head and take a few breaths to calm down. "Jane, please mind your own business. And please keep your voice down, he's in our living room, and this is really embarrassing."

"I'm sorry," she says in an almost-whisper. "I'll keep it down, but please think about what I'm telling you, okay? This is wrong."

"I know, but…"

"Bella, do you know what we talked about the other day, when you were in the shower?" Jane asks me. "He wanted to know what I was working on, and I told him about my projects, including the jewelry designs, and Edward started to tell me about Chelsea, and how she wants to settle down, get married, since they've been together for so long. He was talking about how ridiculous it is, seeing that he'd have to ask his dad for money to buy a ring. This is serious. You're breaking up a couple, Bella. Don't be like her… She ruined my family, and—"

"Don't fucking compare me to your stepmother. Don't you dare do that. Your dad was married to your mother for twenty years, he had two kids, and he couldn't keep his dick in his pants. How dare you compare this situation to what happened with your dad? And stop blaming her, you _know _she didn't even know he was married when they got together. You're still so bitter, Jane."

She stands up and walks over to me, until our faces are just a few inches apart. Her eyes are too blue. Her cheeks are too pink. That vein on her neck is menacing, scary. It looks so strange there, so strange to see on my calm, quiet best friend.

"Wow. Thanks. Thank you. I brought you in here to help you, and you're calling me bitter, and talking about my family. So fucking selfish. You've always been so selfish."

"I'm selfish? I'm… you tried to keep me from dating how many men over the years? You convinced me to stay with you in Washington instead of moving to LA, and if I hadn't broken up with Felix, you would have stopped me from leaving Seattle with him. You don't want me to go to New York, and you keep trying to make me feel stupid when I bring it up by saying I'm going because Edward is there, when you know that's not true. I'm not happy here, and every time I've tried to do anything for myself, you.,. you…"

"Don't blame your inability to do anything on your own on me," Jane shouts.

"Keep your voice down, _please._"

"You're the one who's shouting."

"I'm not shouting!"

"You're so shouting," Jane insists. "Listen, go out there, do what you have to do, but tell him he needs to leave."

"No."

"No?"

"No, I can't do that. Jane, you can't expect me to do that," I whisper. "I've loved him for so long, you have no idea how that feels, no idea how it feels to need someone like I need him. Just please understand and let this go for now. I'm not going to sleep with him, and he leaves tomorrow night. Just…"

"I have no idea? Dude…" She shakes her head and her face is so red and she looks like she's about to burst.

"Tell him to get out, and right now I don't care if you go with him," she tells me.

"What?"

"I want no part in this."

"I pay rent here—"

"Do you? How much of the rent? You're not going to continue this in my apartment. You are—"

I want to feel bad for upsetting her and talking about her family, but she started the whole thing. I want to feel grateful because she helped me when I was down, and broke, and sad, and lonely, but I'm so over it. I can't keep thanking people and forgiving people when they hurt me just because they were nice to me at some point. And today, she crossed a line. And I don't want to be here. I don't want to be here at all. I want him, even if it's for twenty-four hours, or twenty-four minutes. I want him, and she's not driving him away. I want him, and after he's gone, I'll figure things out on my own, without her help.

"Fuck you. I'm leaving. You asked for this. You did this." I think it's time to stop, but the words just keep pouring out, and I can't stop them this time. "Enjoy being alone, because you have no other friends. You never have. You're sad, bitter, and oh my God, so jealous."

I ignore her tears, and the words she throws my way, and I slam the door in her face. Edward jumps off the couch and comes to me, but he hesitates before hugging me and asking me what happened. I think I'm crying, but my face is completely dry, like my eyes. I'm shaking, and Edward holds my hands and kisses my knuckles and my palms. I turn and walk to my bedroom. I look for a bag. I put a bunch of clothes in it. He finds another bag, and helps me. We fill two bags with clothes, and a third with my random stuff. He sees the picture of us taken during my eighteenth birthday "party," and stares at it before looking over at me. I nod, and he removes it from the frame. He can have it… it makes me so happy that he wants it. We leave the apartment, and I give him my keys. He says he'll get the rest of my stuff if I decide to leave for good. We find a cab and end up at Rosalie's.

XxXxX

"Bella?"

I giggle. "Who else?" He called me—I didn't call him.

"You sound happy," he tells me.

"I'm doing pretty well. Yeah…"

"Is Rose being nice to you?"

"So nice… Edward, thank you so much."

"Stop that," he says. "I'm glad you're doing better."

"I am."

"Good. How are your classes? Good?"

"Yeah, and oh! I think I found a place I can afford. It's tiny, but it's perfect."

"Yeah? That's great."

It's not "great" like when other people say it's "great"—he really means it's great. I can tell. And it's great. So great. Like, really great. This is all great. He's great. His voice on the phone is better than great.

"Yeah, I really like it," I tell him. "My parents are going to help me move my stuff, and they're taking my furniture back to Forks. I don't want to pay for storage, you know? And um, I have to tell you about Royce's uncle, he—"

"Shit, Bel, I really need to go," he interrupts me.

"Oh, yeah. Cool. I'll talk to you later."

"Yeah, and Gchat?"

"Yeah, sounds good."

"Bye."

And he hangs up. I'm sad, but happy. Thrilled, but empty. I jump up immediately, not sure what to do now. That's what I look forward to all day… Edward's calls. They last for hours sometimes. Minutes, when he's at home. They consist of jokes and stories, promises and yawns, good mornings and breathless questions, answers. They're everything, and nothing. They're everything, but not enough. I move around my room—Rosalie's spare room or tiny office space or whatever, and I decide to go out for a while. I can't sit still anymore. I can't just "be" anymore. Every moment is full of things. Moving, studying, working, talking to Edward, talking to Rose, talking to Royce, talking to Royce's uncle's firm's clients on the phone, not talking to Jane, planning trips to New York and the Seychelles, because that's where Edward and I want to go one day, to disappear and hide from the world. So, so much is happening. So much is new. I don't know if I'm happier. He's in New York, with Chelsea. I'm here, just doing normal things, things I never wanted to do, but have to do because people do these normal things. He says I'm his best friend. It makes me giddy. It makes me smile. It makes me all warm, and it makes me blush. It's everything, but it's nothing. It's everything, but it's not enough.

**Okay, people. Another chapter down. You're so sick and tired of this already. This was a tough one to write—I'm always Team Jane, and this time… yeah. Anyway, I have a special Edward thing you guys might want to see. Okay, it's not special, but it's Edward, and he had a lot to say. So lemme know what you think, and I'll see you guys again next week?**

**Thanks so much for reading.**


	22. Probably a bad idea

**Hiii. **

**Writeontime sent this back to me so quickly that I was sure she hadn't read it, but I was wrong. She's awesome. **

**Ciaobella27 likes it rough. Or likes that Edward probably likes it rough. I don't know what I'm talking about. Ignore me. She's awesome, too.**

**I don't own Twilight.**

Aunt Liz always tells me that if you haven't figured out what to do with your life by the time you're twenty-five, you should go to law school. I'm not twenty-five yet, but law school is something I've always considered in the back of my mind. I've never particularly wanted to be a lawyer, but it buys some more time—three years, to be exact. So when Rosalie suggested that I work at Royce's uncle's law firm part-time to make some money and gain some experience, I agreed that it was a good idea. When Edward encouraged me to go for it, I told Royce to go ahead and set up an interview.

I've been working here for almost two months now, and my responsibilities include answering the phone and conducting mail merges. Sometimes they let me sit in on meetings, and I've also helped when they had heavy call volume on certain cases. Royce's uncle's firm does really, really boring stuff—lawsuits against pharmaceutical companies. Mass torts and class actions. I know this isn't what I'll be doing once I graduate from law school, but I'm sure a lot of the attorneys here said the same thing when they were younger. I'm not stupid—I know that things just don't work out sometimes, but if this is what the future has in store for me, I'd rather work at American Apparel forever.

Because, ugh, that's what I do when I'm not at the firm. I go to class and then I put on something cute and head over to the store. Unfortunately, I don't think I will be looking as good as I do now in ten years, so I'll need a backup plan for when I get fired. Maybe I'm not being smart or mature, but I think it's pretty telling that I'd rather sell hoodies and ill-fitting pants for the foreseeable future than have a "real" job. And while I understand the realities of life and how sometimes we don't get to do the most fun thing, or most interesting thing, I'd like to think that there's more out there, and that I don't have to settle for a career in something that doesn't interest me.

Again, I understand that the legal field has much more to offer, but I see what Rose studies. I skim the pages of her books a lot. Boring. I mean, not once have I been even remotely interested in anything I've read, heard, or seen. And the douchebags she goes to school with… don't even get me started. It's like every asshole in America decided to congregate at Rose's school and learn about the law.

I'm not going to be a lawyer.

I told Edward this, and he laughed. He told me that's exactly how he feels about becoming a doctor—but then he talks about med school, and the various programs he was accepted to, and public health, and lord knows what all day, so I think he's interested in the field in general… so it's just confusing. He confuses me. A lot. He confuses me no matter what he's talking about.

Guys have confused me before. You know when they do that hot/cold thing? It's frustrating and impossible to deal with. Except that's not the problem with Edward. We're always… warm. A nice warm. A warm that brings tingles to my belly and gives me that feeling you get when your heart swells in your chest and everything feels good. Sometimes, just for a few seconds here and there, we get hot. Those seconds last for…seconds. Yeah, they don't last long. But they happen, and when they do, I feel like that's it, we're there, it's going to happen. He's going to fly to Seattle and fuck my brains out. He's going to come here and bend me over something and fuck me like I haven't been fucked in months. God, I want that. And he has to want that. I mean, his voice gets really deep, and he sounds like such a man. Like a man who is going to take control, and make me beg to do things to him because there's nothing better than doing those things. He sounds like he would be rough, or at least could be rough. So rough. So good. I like rough.

I think back a lot to the weeks I spent with Edward, when sex and love and all those things were new. "Rough" wasn't something I even considered back then. With Edward, sex wasn't about sex, at least for me. I'm sure that's not how he looked at things, given that he was a seventeen-year-old boy. But for me, when it came to my relationship with Edward, sex and love went together in a way that I have never experienced again. And it's not like I haven't loved anyone since Edward. I loved Riley and Felix, and I would be disrespecting them, and what we had, if I were to say otherwise. But with Edward, everything was different. I think a lot about the things we did. Positions. Places. Sounds we made. I don't remember anything crazy. I just remember… bliss. I'm probably looking back at everything and seeing only the good, but I know that for those few weeks, there was nothing else. Just good. He was the best, regardless of the fact that I've been fucked harder, in more creative ways, in more awesome locations, and by more experienced guys.

I've never shied away from kinky things. I like being dirty. Sometimes I need to make things dirtier, kinkier, just to feel _good._ I love that feeling you get where you think nothing can be better, no one can make you feel this good or come so hard. With Riley, it was all about trying new things in public places. There was the thrill of "what if we get caught?"… and we loved it. With Professor Chapman, it was all about the taboo aspect of our relationship. He was much older, and he loved to pretend that I was even younger than I was. I felt dirty, and it was exhilarating playing those games with him. In Paris, everything was an adventure—I'd never slept with complete strangers before. With Felix, there was spanking and so much rough sex that I'd have to beg for him to stop sometimes, even though I was the one who had initially begged him for more, harder, faster, or whatever. I always need that extra something, that little bit of craziness. I don't think there's anything wrong with that at all. I have friends who let men degrade them on a daily basis. I also have friends who sleep with their boyfriends for years without feeling anything. At least I enjoy what I'm doing, and I can count the number of guys I've slept with on one hand… plus a finger. Okay, two. That's a pretty decent number.

I obsess over these things. The number of guys, what I've done with them, what I've refused to do with them. This obsession has only intensified since Edward came back into my life. Maybe it was the fact that I was a kid, with absolutely no prior experience, but when I slept with Edward, I had to hold on tight, and look at his face, and have him hold me tighter and tighter as we came. Maybe I didn't get that sex could be more than that. Maybe I was too shy to bend over a table and ask him to do me, or to throw my legs over his shoulders and tell him what I wanted. But even right now, knowing what I like and how I like it, all my fantasies of Edward still involve that crazy, all-consuming, oh-my-god-I'm-gonna-die-if-you-don't-hold-me-and-stare-into-my-eyes kind of love-making that I haven't engaged in since our last time together in my bedroom, right before he left.

He probably doesn't want that. I'm not sure what he wants. Sometimes, late at night, when we're both falling asleep talking to each other, one of us will say something sexual. If the other responds with something equally sexual, we go back and forth like that for a few seconds and then laugh and change the subject, or hang up. If discomfort is expressed in any way, the person who made the sexual comment will turn it into a joke and laugh it off. Usually, it's the former which takes place, and I know by his tone and his words that he wants to have sex with me, and that he would if we were in the same city. But so what? He's with his girlfriend, and she's the one he'll be holding and making love to. If they lived in Seattle, and Edward decided to cheat on her with me, I'd be the girl he'd fuck quickly before returning to her, the girl acting like a porn star on her knees, the girl he would spank and talk dirty to all night—but it would never be all night…

I have no problem doing any of these things, as long as the guy I'm with respects me and treats me well. I've never put up with any form of disrespect or bad behavior, and I'm not about to start now—especially not with Edward Cullen. But it goes beyond that, even. I'd rather never have sex with him again than be his fuck buddy, or dirty little secret, or someone he can fuck and walk away from. I'd rather just not have sex again, ever.

It's nine o'clock and my shift is over. Edward told me to call on my way home. He's strangely protective and it freaks me out a little. He wasn't like this when we were kids. He cared about very little back then. He was probably even a little selfish. Actually, he was really selfish. Now he's like an old man. Stay safe, Bella. Be careful, Bella. Don't walk around with your phone in your hand, Bella. Don't be distracted, Bella. Call me, Bella. Call me.

So I call him.

"Hi," I say in that sing-songy voice he seems to enjoy.

"Bellaaa," he sings, mocking my lame attempt at being cute.

"What's up? I'm walking home, and I…" …I decided to call you because you like it when I call you, and sometimes I want to be the one calling because otherwise you get all weird and talk about how you feel bad calling me all the time since you have a girlfriend?

"Take a cab, it's late."

"Um, it's nine o'clock, gramps. I think I'll be okay."

"Right, right. So… what's going on? What's on your mind?"

"Sex," I blurt out.

"Oh. Nice."

"Yeah…"

"Yeah."

"Anyway, I'll let—"

"What about it?" he asks.

"Huh?"

"You said you were thinking about sex. What made you think about it?"

"Um, we're human, we're people. We think about sex all day in some context, right?"

"Yeah," he agrees. "I guess we do."

"Yep."

"So what's the context in which you were thinking about sex?"

"The context… I don't know."

"Ah."

"Yeah, I just have the mind of a twelve-year-old boy," I tell him. "I think about sex all day. My brain is all 'fuck, fuck, titties, cock, hamburger, yum' all day."

He laughs. My stomach flips once, twice, and I notice that I'm not walking anymore, I'm skipping.

"You're funny," he says when he's done laughing.

"I try to keep you entertained."

"You're the best form of entertainment, ever."

Why thank you, Mr. Cullen. That's exactly what a girl wants to hear.

"Bella?" he says, when I don't acknowledge his compliment.

"Hmmm?"

"I thought I lost you for a second."

"Oh, no. Wouldn't want that… you don't want to lose your best form of entertainment."

"I'm an asshole," he tells me.

"No, you're not. Sometimes you have asshole moments. Those can easily be forgiven if they're few and far between."

"You know you're not just—"

"I know," I assure him. Because I do know, even though it's easy to think I'm not, because these past few months have managed to turn me into the most insecure person ever when it comes to Edward.

"Okay, good."

"Yeah, so can we talk about fun things again?"

"Sure. Are you going to talk about sex? Because that was fun," he tells me.

"Of course! I like sex; sex is fun."

"Hmmm, so tell me, Bella Swan, how often do you do fun things?"

"Not often enough."

"No? That's sad," he says.

"So sad!" I agree.

"When did you—"

"None of your business, Edward Cullen."

"What? How do you know what I was going to ask?"

"Oh, because you're that obvious."

"Sorry, you're right, it's none of my business," he admits. "I just…"

"A few days before my birthday. Maybe a week."

"Huh?"

"Yeah."

"That's a long time… yeah, wow."

"Um, thanks, asshole. That was only two months ago."

I hear him take a deep breath and let it out. Whoosh. I like how that sounds over the phone.

"God, Bella, I want to ask you so many questions."

He says it so quietly, I almost don't hear it. But he meant for me to hear it. His words make me stop, and I look around. I'm ten minutes from my apartment, and I just want to sit here on the sidewalk and make him ask these questions.

"Go ahead," I tell him.

"No. None of my business."

"Bullshit. It's totally your business."

"Bella—"

"And even if it's not, I want you to ask me, and I want to give you answers, and I want to ask things, too."

"Probably a bad idea," he says.

"Why?"

"You're going to be here in a week. We're going to hang out. You'll probably meet… no you won't. I… I don't know. I don't want this to turn into something we can't get back from, especially since you're coming here. If things get awkward, and you decide not to see me, or I decide not to… and I can't do that, because I need to see you when you're in New York."

"I'm coming to see you," I confess. This is probably not what he wants to hear. He wants to hear the lies… that I'm flying out to New York to see the city, to see if it's somewhere I want to move to someday. That I'm just going to meet up with him because he happens to be there.

"I know," Edward says.

"Oh."

"I know. And it makes me happy. It makes me feel good…. that you're coming to see me."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he whispers. "And I don't want to fuck things up before you get here."

"Okay…"

"Bella?"

"Yeah?"

"I think about the same things you think about, and when I do, I'm always thinking about you."

"See, you always do this. You don't want to cross that line, Edward, but you always end up—"

"Believe me, if I wanted to cross the line…"

"You just admitted to thinking about me when thinking about sex," I point out. "Line crossed."

"You're right. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize, I don't want you to apologize. I want you to keep crossing it."

"No you don't," he says.

"Of course I do."

"You don't. If you did, you would have done it by now. You have all the power here, Bella, and you—"

"Power? I have the power? It's all in your hands. You get to decide when we speak, how long we speak, what topics can or cannot be covered during our conversations. I'm just… I don't know… along for the ride."

"Then why do it? Do you want to stop?" Edward asks.

"Why do it? Are you really asking me that?"

"See, this is exactly why I don't start these conversations. Things get weird. I don't want weird. I want us… I don't know, I want to talk to you every day. I don't want stupid shit to come between our—"

"Fine, no 'stupid shit' will come between anything. You started this. I'm ending it. Next topic," I tell him.

"I started it? You're the one who called me to tell me you're thinking about sex!"

"You know what? No, I didn't call you to tell you that, but it just so happens that I was thinking about sex. I was thinking about sex with you, and sex with other men. I was comparing sex with you to sex with them. I… I was thinking about places and positions and how—"

I hear a loud "bang" and then "shit, shit, shit" and a few words addressed to someone else, not me.

"And did I lose each time?" he asks, his voice lower than it was a few seconds ago. "Was it even a fair comparison? I was a kid, Bella. Was it funny, thinking about it? Did you laugh, remembering how I'd hold on to you and lose my breath, and tell you you were the best, your skin was the best, your face was the best, your… was it funny?"

"No, _no_. What was…? It wasn't funny. I was thinking you are still the best. It was quite sad, actually. Are you laughing now? You can if you want to," I tell him. "You can laugh and mock me for admitting that after all these years, my first sexual experience remains the best sexual experience of my life. Mock me. I deserve it."

"I'd… what are you… are you serious?" he asks.

Of course he's going to take this opportunity to feel good about himself, feel like a man. Oh Edward, so proud of your skills in the bedroom. Good for you.

"I… yeah. I'm serious."

"Shit."

"What?" I ask him.

"Nothing, it's just…"

"It's cool, you don't have to say anything. Just don't bring it up when I'm in New York. It's kind of embarrassing."

"Bella, I…"

"Shhh. I'm gonna hang up. Go to bed. Or masturbate. Yeah, that's probably a good idea. Do it a lot before I get there. I'm um, I'm going to say goodnight."

"Call me tomorrow?" he says, chuckling.

"You call me. I'm a little mortified."

"You shouldn't be. I admitted stuff to you today, too. We can both be mortified. If we're both mortified, we cancel each other out. Wipe the slate clean. No mortification. We're cool," he tells me.

"You're awesome. Sometimes right before I hang up, I want to say 'I love you' because you're so awesome, but then you'd get all weird, so I don't."

He laughs. I laugh. He starts to say something, but so do I, and we both stop and laugh some more.

"Goodnight, Bella," he finally says. "Do it right after you hang up. It sort of works."

So I do it. I whisper "I love you" after I hang up. I continue to do this all week, and he's right… it sort of works. And I wonder if he does this after our conversations, and I know he doesn't, because he doesn't love me like I love him… but I can't help but wonder, and I can't help but wish, and I can't help but dream.

XxXxX

Edward likes the most random places. He keeps taking me to cafés and dive bars that I never thought he'd be into. I like these places, and I wonder if he's choosing these spots because he knows this and wants to make me happy, or if they're places he'd never go to. Places where no one knows him.

It's not like people would recognize him. New York a huge city. But if he has favorite restaurants or bars, the people working there would probably think 'Oh hey, that's the dude who always comes here with that blonde chick, where is she today?' So he wouldn't take me to those places, right? He'd take me somewhere random. I want to ask how random these random places are, but I don't. I keep my paranoia to myself. It's better this way.

It's my third day here. I leave tomorrow. The first day, we went out with a bunch of his friends. He introduced me as his "best friend, Bella" and they were all very nice to me. They weren't the brightest bunch—no one wondered where his best friend had been all this time. Chelsea didn't come, she had to work. I don't think she was ever supposed to come. All in all, it was a fun evening. One of his friends was flirting with me all night. I wanted to be nice, so I talked to him and smiled at him… the usual things. I also didn't want to give them any reason to question my relationship with Edward. So I didn't flirt with Edward, and for the most part, I tried not to sit too close, or whisper too many things in his ear, or touch him in any way. At one point, I went out for a smoke, and his friend followed me out into the street. He was a boring banker type. I don't know why Edward was friends with him, or how they met. I just smoked my cigarette and politely nodded a lot. It didn't take long for Edward to find us out there. He didn't look too happy, and said he was going to take off. Five minutes later, I was pressed up against a wall, listening to him lecture me about assholes, and how I shouldn't give them the time of day. His hands were on either side of my head, against the wall. My hands were on his chest, his stomach. It was so cold out, and a couple walking by looked concerned. They kept turning around and looking back at us, to make sure everything was okay. Of course it wasn't. It never is.

Because in situations like that, something is always happening that can't be good. Of course, Edward wasn't going to hurt me—it was nothing like that. But it also wasn't the sort of embrace two lovers share up against a wall before going home and ravaging each others' bodies. It was this in-between. A passerby would sense the tension, but wouldn't be able to guess if it was good or bad. Why do two people stare at each other like that if they're not about to fuck each others' brains out? Or if one of them isn't about to hurt the other? It's because there's something there. Something eating away at them. Something that causes an ache, a need to be close, a need to convey an extraordinary amount of anger, want, frustration. And he was so frustrated, as was I. He pounded the wall with his fist when I told him to stop acting like an idiot and mind his own business. I can be such a hypocrite. I tell him to mind his own business, when I want to be his business. I want to be his, and a part of him, and I want everything of mine to concern him, and vice versa. Up against that wall, I knew that one touch would make everything better. I could have moved my hand lower. I could have tentatively stroked him. I could have smiled and told him it's cold out, let's go somewhere. I could have held his arm, or hand, and taken him to my hotel room. Instead, I shoved him away and told him he couldn't treat me like that. He's been apologizing ever since.

I don't know what to do. I want him to be possessive and jealous, but I don't think he has any right to be either of these things. Right before I boarded the plane in Seattle, he texted me to let me know that he missed me like crazy and couldn't wait to see me. I thought about this the entire flight over, when I wasn't busy thinking about how I was about to die. I hate airplanes. I try not to spend any time on them. I avoid them at all costs. I didn't think twice before buying my ticket to New York because after hours on a smelly plane, I'd be next to him. With him. Close to him.

And it's not fair. It's not fair because he's with her, and he isn't leaving her, and I shouldn't be expecting him to, but it's really unfair. He should have left her by now. What if he never leaves her? What if this is it? This could be it. He has Chelsea, he has me. Sure, he can't have sex with me, but he definitely enjoys what we have. And I think he secretly loves the tension that keeps on building between us. I was loving it for a while; now, I hate it. Now, all I want is him.

When I first saw him outside my hotel the other day, my heart did crazy things. My brain did crazier things. Or it just did one thing. It stopped functioning. I jumped him. He seemed surprised, but he opened his arms, and I was in them, and my face was in his neck, and his face was in my hair, and he was laughing, and I was trying not to cry. I let go, and composed myself, and we went out for dinner. Something was off. Something was different. Then I noticed. His scar…where he got his stitches after the almost-accident he was in last month. It was there, on his chin. I kept staring and smiling, and I wanted to touch it, but I couldn't. I wanted to kiss it. I wanted to hold him and ask him if he was okay. He had called me that night, from the hospital. I heard her voice next to him, and then he hung up. I refused pick up the phone for a few days when he called, because I thought that was so rude. But then… then I did. Because I couldn't not pick up the phone. I have no control. No willpower. I will just do what I have to do. I'm addicted to him. And I'm ashamed, but I'll admit it. He could do so much more, he could cause so much more pain, and I'd probably still be here.

"Hey."

I jump.

"Hi."

"There's an empty table there," he says, pointing to a round table a few feet away. "Is that cool with you?"

"Yeah."

I remove my coat and take a seat at the table. Edward starts apologizing for being exactly four minutes late, but I don't hear a word he's saying. I've seen this table. I've seen it. I've seen it, and it's the same. It's small and round, with a map of Massachusetts drawn on it. I look up at him, like I expect him to recognize a table I saw in my dreams years ago. He looks confused. I smile to cover up my stupidity, and he asks me what I want to drink or eat. I ask for some tea, and he gets up to order my tea and his coffee.

When he returns, things are still slightly awkward from yesterday. We spent the day sightseeing, and ended up outside my hotel at around ten. It was dark and cold, and he had to be home soon. He was teasing me for being a terrible skater, and I kept pouting and pretending to be hurt by his comments. I think he thought I was actually upset at one point, so he started to tell silly jokes, and I kept pushing him away, and he started to tickle me, and our faces were flushed, and he tickled me again, and we hugged, and it was nice, and then we weren't hugging anymore. He quickly said goodbye, and walked away before I could reply. We texted a few times this morning, discussing where and when to meet up today, but the awkwardness of the moment has managed to last, and it's here right now.

"Something's wrong," he says, stating the obvious.

"No," I lie.

"I'm sorry about last night."

"Quit apologizing."

"This place sucks," he observes. "Overpriced, too crowded."

"So why are we here?"

"I used to come here a lot when I was in school—"

"Not anymore?" I interrupt.

"I still do. It's where I get my coffee every morning."

"Oh."

"What?"

"Nothing," I quickly say. "I didn't realize you were a regular here."

"I am. Why? Why does that surprise you?"

"It… I don't know. You always tell me where you're going for dinner, or whatever, and sometimes just out of curiosity, to learn about the city, I look the place up, and it's usually trendy, or fancy, so I just assumed this wouldn't be your type of place."

"This place is pretty trendy," he says. "Well, maybe not trendy, but popular. But yeah, Chelsea decides where to go for dinner, because it makes no difference to me."

"Does she mind that you're not working right now? Like—"

"I pay rent, Bella. And I split everything with her."

"Oh, I know. I was just wondering… like, Jane always made me feel like an asshole for doing nothing when I was doing nothing," I explain.

"Well, I'm going to med school next year, so she's excited about that."

"But you're not."

"I'm not," he confirms.

"So…"

He shrugs. "Next topic of conversation."

"You know, I don't believe you."

"Bella…"

"I just think—"

"Hold up," he says, interrupting me. "Do I ask you about your plans after graduation? Do I ask you about what you want to do, or how your family or friends feel about your decisions? I don't, because I know you don't like to talk about any of it. I don't like to talk about med school."

"Sorry."

"You're leaving tomorrow," he reminds me.

"I know."

"Let's talk about things that don't depress us," he suggests.

"Everything is a little depressing."

"Isn't it? You're right."

"I am."

I drink some tea, he finishes his coffee, and we stare at each other for a few minutes.

"Are you glad you came?" he asks me.

"I don't know… Yeah, of course."

"What were your expectations?"

I shrug. "Let's talk about things that don't depress us."

Pushing away my cup half-full of tea, I stand up and start putting on my coat. He jumps up to help me, but I shake my head and smile at him. 'Leave me alone right now,' I try to tell him with my eyes. He gets it. He waits for me and then lets me walk out ahead of him. Once we're outside, he's right next to me, and our elbows touch sometimes. Or my elbow touches his arm, and his arm touches me, and our hands touch twice, and I resist the urge to grab his and hold it. I almost trip once, and he grabs my hand. I thank him, blushing, and he smiles. I try to pull my hand away from him, but he squeezes it and brings it to his mouth. I almost trip again, because we're still walking, and he can't do that sort of thing while we're walking. Or standing. Or… ever. I narrow my eyes at him and he laughs. I reach up and grab his stupid hat. He looks silly, with his hair all messed up, a bewildered look on his face. Something comes over me and I start to run.

"Come back!"

"No! Catch me. Or try to catch me. I'm fast than you!" I shout.

I keep running, and he is catching up with me, and I am breathless, looking back every other second to see him running after me, a huge grin on his face, pink, pink cheeks. I keep giggling.

"Bella! Careful!"

I immediately stop, looking around for the danger he just warned me of. I don't see anything. And poof, the hat is gone. It's in his hands. And I'm in his arms. And I'm up in the air. He's holding me, and laughing. And I'm laughing, and hitting him in the chest.

"Cheater!" I exclaim.

His face falls.

"Cheater," I repeat, snatching his hat from his hand again.

He doesn't try to get it back. He looks at me. Into my eyes. He looks at me like he used to when we were kids. He looks at me like he did a few times on my couch, before he quickly looked away. He's looking at me, and my fingers are tight around the leather collar of his jacket. He looks, and looks, and stares, and finally closes his eyes. I close mine. I don't think I move. I don't feel him move. I feel his breath against my cheek. I feel it on my mouth. I feel nothing but a sweet, sad ache I've grown so accustomed to feeling. I feel his mouth on mine. I feel my heart stop. I feel, and feel, and he's still kissing me. I'd be lying if I said I'm not kissing him back.

**Thanks so much for reading. I can't wait to hear from you guys… this chapter is kind of big, I guess? I don't know, maybe it's not. Let me know what you think. We can discuss. Are you mad at Edward? Bella? Would you want to read more about Chelsea? Do you want to know why Edward's still with her? Are you surprised?  
**

**I hope you guys received the EPOV of the accident I sent out. If you didn't, let me know. Sometimes the website is stupid and doesn't always send out all the review replies I write. **

**I'll be back next week.**

**xo**


	23. Everything was

**Very important A/N at the bottom. Make sure you check it out! :)**

**WriteOnTime is awesome. Brilliant. Pretty. She edits this. Ciaobella27 is amazing. She makes sure this makes (some) sense.**

**I don't own Twilight.**

This is the moment I think of every time I know I'm about to feel pain. When I pull the wax strip off my upper lip, I close my eyes and tell myself "think about how it felt when he kissed you" or "Edward, Edward, Edward. His mouth, so soft"… and I swear, the pain goes away and I smile so big and my eyes are rounder and so wide and full of life, just because I remembered a kiss from a boy.

And that boy has his mouth against mine right now. And his arms are moving up and down my back. And then my sides. And then they're on my face. They're in my hair. And I know it's wrong, wrong, wrong, but I kiss him anyway. I've seen this before. He kisses me, and we kiss for a second, and then I get angry and run away. But fuck that. I touch his cheeks and bring him closer. I feel his tongue. I feel his teeth. I feel and feel. This is the kind of kiss you don't want children to see. Or strangers. Your parents. I hear sounds coming from me that should remain behind closed doors, or open doors if no one else is around. He holds me so close. He wants me like he wanted me in high school. This makes me happy. I'm thrilled. The thrills run through me and I'm on top of the world. Triumphant. He's kissing me. Small kisses now. Pecks on my lips and my chin and my nose and my cheeks. His mouth on my jaw and down my throat. 'Oh God' and words that could just be sounds and sounds that are trying to be words. My feet hit the ground and he holds me tight. I look up at his face and he kisses me again. He holds my hand and pulls me with him as he starts to walk.

"Where are we going?" I ask.

"Somewhere. I don't know. Somewhere. Shit, we have to meet Demetri soon. Can we go back to your room first?"

"My room? Why?"

"I…" We aren't moving anymore, and I look to see our fingers together, and I wait for that thrill. I wait for the acceleration of my heartbeats. Nothing comes.

"You want to go back to my room and… no."

"No?" he asks.

"I'm not sleeping with you. I'm not… I won't."

Panic. My chest. Something keeps pressing. I know there's something I'm unhappy about, that I should be more concerned about. I remember. Our hands. Fingers together. This should make me happy. So happy. I just feel sad.

"You… I don't want that," he says.

"Then why are you dragging me to my hotel room?"

"You were… don't tell me you don't want to. You were kissing me, and—"

"I… no, not right now. You have a girlfriend. I'm not your girlfriend. You kissed me, and…"

He lets go of my hands, and I can breathe again. He presses his palms into his eyes. He looks up at the sky, then down at me. He has the greenest eyes.

"I don't have to have a girlfriend anymore. I can… Shit. What am I talking about?"

"I don't know. I don't know. I—"

"Fuck, it felt good kissing you. Everything was—"

"Real," I interrupt. "Real and alive and good."

"Yes—"

"No, not good," I change my mind. "That wasn't good."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"No apologies. Fake apologies don't count. You're not sorry. You're sorry, maybe, to her. Not to me. I waited six years for that."

"I waited… yeah. Since that last night. Then I think I forgot I was waiting for a while."

This makes me sad, so I look away. I hear him whisper, "Shit, that was stupid."

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

We stand like this, doing and saying nothing. There are so many people on this street, but it's like they're not there. All I see is a soft t-shirt I want to sob into. Scruff I want to feel against my cheek. A boy I want to run, run, run away from right now.

"Edward? It's cold."

"Don't say that. I can't hold you right now."

I want him to change the subject. Go on like nothing happened. For now. For now, I want to discuss the weather and how overpriced a sweatshirt is inside the nearest store.

"Let's just go inside somewhere," I suggest. "I don't know."

"Bella, I just thought… when you said 'cheater', I thought, why not? She's here. She's the most beautiful she's ever been. Since I'm going to hell…"

"What?"

"I've been cheating on her for months," Edward explains.

I shake my head and look into his eyes. "No."

"Yeah, for months."

"Not cheating."

"I wish…"

His phone rings. His face changes color, and he takes very deep breaths. He walks away. I stare at the window display of a store. I like blue things. There is a royal blue t-shirt with big white letters on it, spelling something. I read it a few times and I still don't know what I'm reading. My mind is here, but it's not. It's back there. Back there with him. Back in 2009 with me and Edward and no Chelsea and beaches and Jane. God, I miss Jane. How dare he talk to Chelsea on the phone right now? Ignore. You hit 'ignore', you fucking asshole. But I guess it's more acceptable to be an asshole to me, than an asshole to her. She's blameless. She's clueless. This is why I can't be the other person. Woman. I'd have to stand here, and take it, and tell myself that it's what I signed up for when I let him kiss me, touch me, tell me things…when I said "Hello" after seeing his number on my phone that first night he was back in New York. Friends don't call friends at one in the morning. Friends don't listen to friends breathing on the phone. Friends don't touch themselves first thing in the morning to the memory of their friend's voice, to the memory of moments spent together years ago.

"I'm sorry about that."

I look up at him and shrug. "Whatever."

"Don't give me that, Bella. You know—"

"No, I don't. I'm going to go back to my room now. Tell Demetri I'm sorry, I really wanted to meet him."

"Are you angry because I answered a call?" Edward asks me.

"No, I'm just not going _there_ with you."

"Bella, we went there a while ago. Are you that naïve?"

"And you knew this and continued, like it was okay? I didn't. I swear. I don't know what I was thinking…"

"I didn't. I just realized these past couple of days. I kept thinking it was innocent."

"I can't talk about this right now." My voice is a squeak. I'm a child again. This conversation is for adults. I don't want to be having it.

"Come to lunch, please."

I follow him for a few blocks. My stupid sneakers hurt my feet. I look down. They're not mine, they're Jane's. Too small. Why do I have her shoes? We have too many pairs, all similar, sometimes the exact same. I hate high tops. Why did I bring them? I tug on Edward's jacket, he stops walking. I kneel and loosen my shoelaces a little. My jeans are so tight around my ankles that I struggle to cover the top of my sneakers again. Who cares? I just leave them like that. I'm sweating now. Was that really all it took to overexert myself? I need to work out. Jane would make me work out.

"I'm so fat, I can't even deal with bending over for a second."

"You're too skinny. Eat a burger and make me smile."

"Whatever, Edward. Mind your own business."

Edward's best friend from college, Demetri, is already there when we arrive. He's handsome. Dark blonde hair and dimples. He reminds me a little of Riley, but he's shorter, and smiles more often than Riley does. Edward excuses himself as soon as we're seated.

"The infamous Bella Swan. I didn't believe that you existed."

"Hi, I'm here."

He smiles. "Missing the long, flowing locks he always talked about."

"Yes, missing those."

"It's good to meet you."

"Likewise."

We sit for a few seconds, somewhat uncomfortable with the silence, but it's not that bad. I can't get over our little introduction. I didn't expect this. I expected polite greetings and nothing more. I want to make him talk. I want to ask a million questions. I want to hear none of the answers if they're going to hurt me.

"Did he really?" I blurt out.

"Did he what?"

"Talk about me a lot."

"Back in the day? Yes."

"Right."

Edward is back with a smile on his face. I smile back, because I can't help but smile at his smiles. The three of us chat about the economy and their favorite reality show, and we order some food. I order a burger, because, well… yeah. I'm surprised when a tall man with dark hair walks up to our table and slides in next to Demetri.

"Alec," Edward says.

"Hey, sorry I'm late."

"Bella, this is Alec. We work together," Demetri explains.

I smile at the stranger. "Nice to meet you. I'm Bella."

"Good to meet you, Bella."

He asks me questions, and I answer them. I'm just being polite at first, but after a while, it's just nice to talk to someone and not think about kisses and girlfriends and boys sitting to your left whose knees you want to reach out and place your hand on.

And Edward is quiet. He looks so tired. As Alec and Demetri speak, I steal glances over at him. He's somewhere else. He barely says a word. My hand can't help itself, and it move towards Edward, and it's on his thigh. Edward's shoulders slump, and he turns to me with a small smile. It's a little sad. I want to kiss the little sad away. I ask him if he's okay with my eyes. He nods.

We eat a lot and drink a lot. I wonder how Demetri and Alec are going to go back to work. They've only had two beers each, but it still seems like a lot considering that it's a workday. Edward and I have had more. Not enough to get drunk, but enough to be careless with words and touches. He gets up to go to the bathroom, and Alec leans over the table to talk to me.

"Feel free to tell me to fuck off, but are you guys…?"

"No, it's not like that."

"I thought so. Listen, I'm going to give you my card. If you're ever in town again, or just want to talk..."

"Um, sure. But, um, I'm not really interested in anything like that," I tell him.

"Hey, no worries. Just hang on to it in case things change."

I smile and take the card from his hand. Demetri is watching us with a curious expression. I flip the card around in my fingers, pushing away my glass. I don't want anything but water right now. Water with ice. I want to drink a lot of it. When Edward comes back, Alec and Demetri leave. We sit in the booth for a few more minutes, sipping our drinks or water, staring at the waitress with the cool hair and awesome tattoos. I'd get a tattoo, but I'm too scared. There is nothing that I would want on my skin permanently. Except for him. And imagine if I had gotten "Edward" tattooed on me years ago. How silly. I'd want to scratch my skin off and kiss it and think of him at the same time.

"Ready to go?" he asks.

"Sure."

"Alec gave you his card?"

"Yeah."

"Will you be calling him?"

"Um, I don't know. Probably not."

"You should," he tells me. "Alec's a good guy."

"Please mind your own business."

"You keep telling me that."

"Yeah, well."

I pick up my pace once we have left the restaurant. He keeps up with me and walks by my side, but I ignore him. I don't know why I'm angry all of a sudden. Why does he have to say that? Why can't he snatch the card away from me and tear it into little pieces? Why can't he throw his arms around me and promise me things?

"Your flight's in a few hours."

"I know, I should finish packing and leave."

"Are you taking the train again? I think you should take a cab," he tells me.

"I can't afford a cab. The train will be fine."

"I can come with you."

"No, it's cool."

"I want to?"

"Do you?" I snap.

"Bella…"

"I can take myself to the airport."

"You're such a girl," he says.

"Oh?"

"You're picking a fight last minute."

"I'm so not doing that, Edward."

"Talk to me."

"And say what? There is absolutely nothing else for me to say."

"What do you mean?" he asks. "Are we… do you not want to talk to me anymore?"

"Of course I do!"

"Then…"

"You kissed me. How did that feel?" I ask him.

"Bella…"

"No, you owe me this. How did it feel?"

"Good."

"Good," I repeat. It's not what I wanted to hear.

"Good, like, think about what the word means. Good. I'm trying not to think about it, but that's one word I can't deny. I want to say incredible, and hot, and amazing, but don't make me do that right now."

"Best," I say.

"Huh?"

"Best."

"Yeah…"

"I've said everything I want to say."

"I… Bella, you don't want to call Alec, do you?"

"No."

"You don't want to."

"No."

"You don't want to talk to Alec," Edward continues. "You don't want to sleep with him. You don't want to date him."

"I don't want any of that, with Alec, with…"

"I think—"

"Don't do that. Don't tell me to date, or sleep with, other guys."

"No?"

"No, I'd hate you."

"As your friend, I should."

"Fuck friendship, and that would be so… Don't do it," I warn him.

"Good."

"Good?"

"I don't want you calling other guys; I don't want them staring at you. I don't want them to see you. They can't kiss you. Please don't let any of them fuck you. I just…"

"Not your decision."

"You just said…"

"I know, I know. But my saying it is different from you demanding these things."

"I just want—"

"You can want. Want all day. It's not yours."

He walks me to my hotel, and I tell him he can come to my room and help me pack. He's beautiful sitting on the bed. He's beautiful with his jacket off, sitting in a t-shirt and jeans, looking sad and angry and agitated, just like the seventeen-year-old I knew. Sulking and frowning. Poor, poor boy. He lies down and his t-shirt rides up. I stare at skin, I stare at the hair I want to touch. I look up at his face and our eyes meet. I want to take off my pants and lie on top of him. I want to miss my flight because I was fucking Edward Cullen all night. I want to be the best for him. I want him to say it. I want him to beg me to stay and not go, and I want him to be a bad person and leave his girlfriend and be with me. Just me. I want him to take his things and leave that apartment. I want him to never look back. I want him to get on a flight to Seattle with me and move into my tiny apartment and give me smiles and orgasms and life.

But when our eyes meet, I just smile at him. He sits up and smiles back, shaking his head. I'm glad I'm wearing these too-tight jeans and stupid shoes I'd have to untie and struggle with to pull off. They're keeping me safe right now.

He's impossible. I beg him not to, but ten minutes later, he's pushing me into a cab. I panic, because I'm not ready to say goodbye, but he's right next to me. Then I'm in his arms. And on his lap. And his finger finds the small hole in my jeans right above my right knee. He touches my skin there and I'm on fire. God, I love him. I love this. I love, love, love everything. This man driving the cab. The people who made it. The women pushing past tourists on the street. The green signs on the highway. The finger that points up to the monorail when we get too close to the airport. The other finger that touches my chin and tilts my face towards his when I get sad because we're close. I love so much. I love the feelings in my belly right now, and the dirty window I'm staring out of. The song on the radio. Soft leather. Edward. Edward. Edward.

He walks with me until we absolutely have to separate. I have a ticket. He doesn't. I have somewhere to go. He has to stay. My face is in his chest. He says, "goodbye, Bella." I press my lips against him. His hands are on my face. Our noses brush together. I push him away and smile. Bye. Goodbye. Call me. Okay. Bella. Bye. Don't turn around. Don't. Don't. Don't. Wet, so wet. My face. A woman roughly my mom's age looks at me and smiles. She feels bad. She knows. She gets it. God, I miss him already.

My phone buzzes.

_So good_

I wipe away my tears and it buzzes again.

_Too good_

I can't come up with anything to say. I board my flight. I stare out the window. We're reminded to turn off our phones. I take mine out again. His name is there. Stop torturing me. I just want to put it away. I click on 'open' and why, why, why did he have to wait this long?

_Best_

XxXxX

"Bella! Could you grab some milk? Whole milk, sweetie. You can get yourself some skim if you'd like."

Sure. Of course. Why not? Whatever. I hate Forks. I hate Forks. I hate supermarkets. I hate Thanksgiving. Everything hurts. Long flight. Hangover. Long drive to Forks. Everything was a bad idea. Edward won't pick up his phone. I didn't text back. I want to go home and hide under blankets. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Mrs. Whitlock is here. The old Mrs. Whitlock, not the one I can tolerate.

"Bella!"

"Mrs. Whitlock, hey."

"Jane! Look who I found here! It's Bella!"

Oh shit.

Jane doesn't appear. It's really awkward. My mother finds me. She tells me to stop biting my cuticles. Mrs. Whitlock sighs and agrees. Oh, and I'm told to stand up straight. Jane doesn't appear. Fuck this. Why am I back here? Why didn't I stay in Seattle?

"Jane?" Mrs. Whitlock calls out.

"It's cool, I'll go find her," I say.

It's that simple. I walk out of the store and smoke a cigarette. Then I smoke another one. My father is sitting in the car, waiting for us to return with the groceries. He waves and I wave back. I walk to the car and smile as he rolls down the window.

"Is she socializing in there again?"

"Of course. With the Whitlocks," I inform him.

"Ah. Is Janey here?"

"Yeah…"

"Did you see her?"

"No, her mother was like 'Jane, Bella's here', but she didn't… yeah. Whatever."

"Huh."

"Yeah."

"So, how was your trip to New York?" he asks me.

"Good, it was fun."

"Pretty brave thing, going out there by yourself."

"Dad, I've been living on my own now for years. I mean, sort of. I'm a big girl now."

"Did you meet any new people out there?"

"In New York?" I ask.

He nods.

"Um, no, but I met up with a friend," I tell him. "Do you remember Edward Cullen?"

"I do."

"Yeah, he lives there."

"Did you have a nice time with him?"

"Yeah, I guess."

It's cold outside, so I open the passenger side door and jump in.

"Cold. Brrrr." I smile.

"Bella, you don't seem too happy lately."

"Daddy, I'm happy."

"No, I don't think you are. Something's bothering you, I can see your brain working overtime in your head," he says with a smile.

"Yeah, I'm thinking about stuff."

"About Edward?"

"No…"

"I remember how things were when he left. You were sad then, too."

"This isn't his fault," I almost whisper.

"Didn't say it was."

"It's just… I've always liked him."

"He was a good kid," my dad recalls.

"He still is, I think."

"Then what's the problem? Is it the distance?"

"No… I mean, yeah, but… no. It's not the distance. He's with someone right now."

I don't know why I'm discussing this with my father, but I want to. I want to discuss it with someone. Preferably the girl inside the supermarket, but really, anyone.

"Oh. Don't get mixed up in that situation. You don't want that."

"No, I don't," I agree.

"Then why'd you go visit him?"

"Because—" I stop. "I wasn't visiting Edward."

My father raises an eyebrow. I look into his eyes. No one looks at me this way. My mom, sometimes, and my dad. Who else am I supposed to trust? Who else am I supposed to feel safe pouring out my heart to?

"Because… I always thought it would happen. He's my friend now, good friend, and I think he wants…more, or something. For years I've thought of him, it's like… it never goes away. You know how you once told me that when you met mom, you knew? Well, I knew, too. And it kills me that I _know, _but it's not… it's not happening. Ignore me, daddy. I'm not making any sense."

"Your mother made all my dreams come true. I think maybe Edward will do the same for you," he tells me.

"Oh yeah? That's cute, dad, but…"

"But what? Have some faith. But don't compromise yourself; don't do things that you'll regret. You're a strong, beautiful girl—"

"Dad, it's fine. You don't have to do this. Mom's back. I really don't want to discuss this around her. She'll ask questions and won't shut up about it."

"Don't talk about your mother that way. But you're right, let's keep this between us."

I move over into the backseat of the car as my dad helps my mom with the groceries. I should help, but I'm lazy. And they've never let me do much, so I'm used to being the spoiled kid who does nothing but lie around. I feel bad for a second, but they're already done, opening their doors and sliding into their seats.

"Bella, that was very rude of you. Janey came over to talk to you, and you were gone."

"She just knew I'd escaped, and wanted to look like the bigger person."

My mother shakes her head. "You girls are being silly. It's time to bury the hatchet. You need a friend like her in your life."

"Renee, leave the girls alone. They'll figure things out between themselves."

"It just makes me sad," she says. "You and Jane grew up together. I hope this isn't over a boy."

"Ugh, mom, please. Jane likes girls. If you haven't figured this out by now… I don't know… Maybe spend some time outside of Forks."

"What? Oh! I didn't… Huh. I'll have to think about this."

"Mom, you're so cute."

"She is, isn't she?"

"Stop it, you two!" she protests. She loves it though. She's smiling huge. I realize I haven't checked my phone for a missed call or text in almost ten minutes.

"Bella, have I ever told you how I had dreams, growing up?"

"Oh, Charlie. You've told Bella! Remember, she used to say she had dreams just like you."

"What? When?" I ask.

"You were a little girl," she tells me. "You'd draw things and say you had a dream about Jane, or about one of us."

"Well, Bella," my dad continues, "For years, I had these dreams of a beautiful girl with long brown hair and big blue eyes. Then one day, I met her. I just knew."

Mom laughs. "_I _didn't know. But I'm so glad you told me."

"Are… are you people serious?"

"Bella," my father says, looking at me through the rearview mirror, "sometimes you just know."

XxXxX

"I was sleeping."

"Shit, I'm sorry. I'll try again tomorrow."

"Noooo…"

"Bella, it's okay. It's been a long day, go back to sleep."

"I was dreaming of you," I tell him.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You were with me, in Seattle."

"Oh yeah?"

"Uh huh. You were in my bed."

"Bella, I miss you a lot."

"You kissed me. You said nice things. I can't wait…"

"Wait for what?" he asks me.

"For my dreams to come true."

He says nothing, so I add, "I miss you, too. Ignore me. I'm sleepy and stupid."

"Bella, did you get my texts?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

"Edward…"

"I meant it," he continues. "You've always been the best. I thought I'd built everything up in my mind. There was nothing better. I built you up to be this thing nothing else could compare to, but you were—"

"So… so why were you surprised?" I ask. "You know, that night when I said you were the best?"

"I was a kid. I didn't think I was anything memorable for you. It wasn't the same for you."

"Bullshit. You know it was. I mean, didn't you feel it? How you made me feel? You must have known. You did know," I insist. "I remember."

"I didn't. Or maybe I did, but then time passed, and I didn't. I don't know…"

I'm fully awake, and my heartbeat is so loud. There's a low ringing in my ears. I'm back in my old bed. Everything my dad said comes back to me. Everything I've felt these past few months comes to the surface. I want to tell Edward everything. How I felt the moment I saw him, the first time we spoke, the first time he held my hand. I want to tell him how I felt then, and how I feel now. I want to tell him I've always known. I want to tell him how happy I've seen us together. I want him to listen, to hear my words, and then I want him to find his way to me. I want him here in my bed with me in the morning. Every morning. I want to feel real, and alive, like I did when he was kissing me, like I did in the cab. And I'm almost there, because right now, I feel fear, and anxiety, and happiness, and hope. I'm feeling too much right now to be quiet.

"So then, let me tell you?"

**You guys are so awesome. You crack me up with your reviews. Sometimes you make me really sad. I want to know what you thought of this chapter. Edward, and Charlie, and goodbyes. Thanks so much for reading. It means a lot to me.**

**So, WriteOnTime, ciaobella27, and I have put together a 4-pack of awesomeness for FGB this year for you guys to bid on. I'm offering Edward's POV and Jane's POV of the events that take place around chapters 17 & 18 of **_**Brown Study**_**-when Bella and Edward meet again in Seattle. Ciaobella27 is offering an EPOV from **_**Living Backwards**_**, and WriteOnTime is offering an EPOV from **_**Breaking News.**_** And because we love you even more than TomStu loves ducks, we're including an installment of our ah-may-zing TomStu story, **_**Boy on the Side**_**.**

**Here's a link for our FGB auction: **

**http : / www(dot)thefandomgivesback(dot)com(slash)item(dot)php?id=546**

**Oh, and there's a Team LittleCiaoOnTime you guys can join! You can go here for all the information:**

**http : / web(dot)me(dot)com(slash)k(dot)rito(slash)Team_LCO(slash)Welcome(dot)html**

**(links are in my profile as well!)**

**So, just to give you a taste of what to expect for FGB, I'll send you guys a very special POV with review replies. **

**I'll be back next week! Until then, go see Eclipse twenty times! **

**xo**


	24. So much

**Thanks to my beautiful beta, Writeontime, and Ciaobella27 & Spargelkun for reading this for me.**

**You guys are really the best. For reading, recc'ing, reviewing, lurking, whatever.**

**Are you all members of A Different Forest? I've mentioned having my stories there before, but I'm also now a Ranger. What does that mean? I have no idea, but I get to hang out there a lot. You guys should join, if you haven't already. It's really awesome. **

**Also, thanks to everyone who joined Team LittleCiaoOnTime for FGB. You rock.**

**Oh! I know I "updated" with this news already, but there's a Bella/Jane outtake I wrote for Uncle Sam's Little Ficsters. You can find USLFs listed under my favorite authors. **

**I don't own Twilight.**

"Shit, one second."

I wait for his voice. Usually, he just puts down his phone and deals with whatever needs to be dealt with. Right now, I'm on hold. I can't hear a thing. I just wait for him to come back. I'm anxious. I'm excited. I'm terrified. I'm annoyed. What could be so important? What could be more important than this?

"Hey." His voice is back and I can take calm breaths now. "I'm sorry about that." His voice is lower, almost a whisper. "You were going to tell me something?"

"Y-yes. I want to just tell you everything. I feel like—"

"Why do you do this?" he asks. He sounds frustrated, annoyed, like I'm a child he simply tolerates for short periods of time.

"Do what?"

"What can you possibly tell me that I don't know?"

What a dick. I want to ask him what crawled up his ass. Why he's being so pissy now? Did something happen while I was waiting for him to come back? And why am I getting treated like shit for something I didn't do?

"Um, lots of things," I say. "But right now, I don't even want—"

"Relax. I'm not trying to be an asshole, but Bella, believe me—I know what you're going to say, and just…don't do it. I know how you feel, and you know how I… you know, and right now…"

"I'm not going to tell you I'm in love with you. I just want you to know things. About how it was back then, how I felt, and what I've been feeling for years. I feel like… I don't know, you don't understand what you were to me. You don't get it."

"Maybe I don't, but I also don't understand why that's so important," he says. "You're always dwelling on the past. What if I don't want to? What if it doesn't matter to me?"

"It matters to _me_. All I have is the past. All I have is that month with you. If that's all I'm ever going to have, then—"

"It's not. These past few months have been more than those few weeks we spent together when we were kids ever were. You act like we knew each other well back then. We didn't. I was crazy about you, and you broke my heart, but right now, I don't think about Forks, or being your boyfriend when I was seventeen. I think about the woman I met in September. You're not just that kid I messed around with and fell in love with in the past."

"What am I?" Is it all in my head? Have I been imagining things? That he wants me? That he misses me? That he thinks about us the way I do?

"You're… does it matter? Bella, this is all so confusing. I don't know what you're more into—the relationship we had, or… Every word you say is about the past. Everything you want to talk about… I want to be in your now. And your future. I want to be—"

"But you can't," I interrupt him. "This is all I've got. You made your choice. And there really wasn't a choice to make. We're friends, and, Jesus, Edward—if I want to open up and tell you things, why don't you want to hear them? I just… the second I saw you, all those years ago, I knew. I saw the back of your head, your neck, and… I never wanted to look at anything but you. Everything since… I want to say it hasn't mattered, but it has… but every night I would dream of you, and nothing mattered to me but these dreams. I can't explain it. I want to, but it seems so ridiculous. And I was dreaming of you before you came, and while you were there, and when I fall asleep tonight, I probably will dream of you again. I… when you told me you were leaving, it crushed me. You…you talked about college, and having to leave, and then I was in your arms outside, and I thought you were gone. I thought my life would consist of hours of sitting in front of my computer, waiting to see what you were up to. You'd be dating other girls, or you'd be back with Chelsea. And _God_, by the way, when I heard her name again and realized you're back together, of course I remembered… and if I had found out about that back then, that you had gone back to your ex… I swear it would have killed me. I kept telling myself that I let you go because I wanted you to be free to live and not have to deal with a girlfriend back in Washington… but that was me lying to myself. You left, and changing my number, or whatever, was just me pretending that I had some control over what happened."

"Your need for control made me sit there wondering what the fuck had happened for weeks." He takes a deep breath and says nothing for a few seconds. "See? There's no point… There's nothing to discuss. We were kids. We were stupid. I could have called the Whitlocks. I could have called your house. I didn't. Stop blaming yourself. It doesn't matter."

"But when you came to my apartment, you stood there and told me a sob story about your broken heart," I remind him. "You made me sad for you, you made me ache for the boy I had hurt back then. I just want you to know how much I loved you…"

"I know. That was selfish of me. But I didn't know then that you'd be my best friend—"

"Best friend, thanks."

"Hold on a minute. Like I was saying, I didn't know that night that I'd be talking to you every night since. Bella, we can talk about the past for weeks. In fact, we've been doing just that for months now. We can reminisce. We can laugh and remember how great it was. That's safe. I like safe. I fucking love safe. I want to stay safe, but spend nights dreaming and feeling with you until you get sick of it, but then you _will _get sick of it. I'm saying now that I want to talk about us yesterday, and the day before—when we kissed. I want to talk about where we are tonight. And if you want, we can talk about… tomorrow. And that's not safe, but maybe, maybe it's what we need."

"So you want a push?" I ask him. "A push to get you to do something? I'm not giving you that push. I came to you. I flew across the country for you. I let you kiss me, and I kissed you back. I cried saying goodbye. So if you're still in your apartment with her, that's on you. If you're not on your way over already, that's your fault."

I've never been this terrified. I've never been such a liar. Lying to myself. Lying to him. Oh, Edward, I'm not pushing you, but I'm basically telling you that I've done everything to get you to leave her and come to me. If that's not a push, I don't know what is. He says nothing. And I'm terrified again. This could be it. He could just say he's sorry, but he can't. Or he's not sorry, and he can't. He just can't. Or won't. That's probably worse. He won't. And if he won't, that's that. I won't continue this if he says he won't. Not that I'm dying to continue this. But this is all I have. I'll take indefinite, shaky, uncertain over nothing.

"I'm sorry, I—"

"Don't apologize," he says.

"I say I'm not going to push, but I push."

"You're not pushing. I just… I want… I wish knowing that I want to be with you was enough for you."

"No. You're not with me, so..."

So fuck you and what you wish and what you want.

"But I love you so much, Bella, so—"

I think I go deaf. There's a buzzing in my ears, and I feel nauseated, and my heart is beating so fast that I clutch my blanket, thinking I'll be able to slow it down. He loves me so much. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Shit. Shit. Everything I want. Say it again and again. Tell me you're at the airport. Tell me you're outside my door. Make this perfect. Don't make this an "I love you" tainted by the fact that you're sleeping with her tonight. Don't do that to me. After all these years. Don't.

"What do you love? How much can you possibly…"

He says my name. I guess I'm making stupid sad girl noises and breathing funny. He says it again. I'm calmer. He's talking again.

"What don't I love about you? I love your freckles. I love the way you sip your drink and look up at me. I love how your mouth opens when you're staring, and you don't know that I know, that I'm watching you, but I am. I love how your eyebrows lift up, and you look annoyed or bored, and scare little kids away with your face, but it's the most beautiful face. I love how I can spend days thinking about you without getting bored. I don't know. I don't know what else to say."

"Me too," I confess.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Yeah. God, this is…"

"Bella, I love you."

"Please, please, please, please, please…"

"What?" he asks. Now he sounds scared. Worried.

"Say it again. Like, over and over again."

And he does. All night he tells me he loves me. He whispers it. He says it in a calm, even voice. A door slams and he's outside because I can hear the cars and the streets and the people, and he shouts it. He shouts it. I laugh and he laughs. I do it too. I tell him I love him. And his face. And his heart. And his words. And his ears. He loves mine back.

XxXxX

God, it's exciting to wake up with so much happiness inside. Like you're so happy, you're going to explode into a million happy Bellas. And they're all laughing, and happy, and want everyone else to be happy, because everything is beautiful, everything is love and light and smiles. Everything is a bright yellow. Everything is soft, and your heart keeps bursting with joy, joy, joy. And you can't even remember why. Then you do. You remember, because it just happened. He loves you. Loves you so much. He loves everything about you. His voice is beautiful. Familiar and real and so fucking hot. So hot you want to crawl under your covers and touch and touch and imagine his voice saying things about you. To you. What he wants to do, and how he wants to do it. But you're too excited even for this. So you just sit up and replay that conversation over and over again. He loves you. He lives so far away, but he loves you. That tiny twinge of sadness creeps up. You push it away. He lives with his girlfriend, but he loves you. Sadness with some dread. It's there, you feel it, but you push it away. La la la la la. You ignore it all. You forget it all. You check your phone. Has he called? No. Will he call? Yes, yes, yes. And soon. Your black sweats and grey t-shirt are pretty and white and yellow, and your dark room is all bright, and mom and dad are downstairs, and you jump up, go down, hug them with a smile. Eat a big breakfast. He loves you. Check your phone again and ignore that thing deep inside. He loves you. Wonder why you're about to cry on your way to Port Angeles for some Black Friday shopping. He loves you. Happy. Sad. A face that looks so, so much older than it did last week, last month. You decide to avoid mirrors. You turn off your phone. Why. Why. Why.

You felt so light. Now everything is heavy. Everything is on your shoulders and in your stomach and on your chest. He loves you, but… Not good enough. Never good enough. Bad. Frustrating. The worst.

XxXxX

"Bella?"

"Yeah?"

"Bella, telephone!"

Who the fuck is calling me at my parents' house? I get up and walk to the kitchen where my mom is looking at the ceiling, at the floor, everywhere but my eyes. She hands me the phone and disappears. I know who it is, and I'm not happy.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"What's up?" I ask her.

"Nothing. How have you been?"

"Fine."

"Good."

Silence sucks. She's my best friend. Maybe one day, I'll be able to say she _was_ my best friend, but I'm not there yet.

"So um, I have a couple of things you forgot at the apartment when you left. I brought them along to drop off... I wasn't sure you'd be here."

"You brought my stuff to Forks when you live, what? Ten minutes away from me in Seattle? Smart."

"Bella." She sighs. "Do you want your things or not?"

"Drop them off."

"Real mature."

"Whatever, dude. I can't…"

"How is he?" she asks.

"Hmmm?"

"Was it worth it? How's Edward?"

"Don't even. It's none of your business."

"Are you still talking to him?"

"Yes, I am. I was in New York, visiting him. I just got back."

"Ah. Did you have fun?"

"Yes."

"Did you meet Chelsea?" Fuck you, Jane.

"I'm guessing no," she continues. "Bella, what are you _doing_? Your mom told me you went to New York, and that you've been a mess all day. What is he doing to you? Are you upset because of the pictures? He's such an asshole. I knew it back then, and I was right. I want to come over and see you. It's time for Plan B, or C, or whatever. He needs to—"

"What pictures?"

"Huh?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Facebook… he was tagged…"

"Why the fuck are you even friends with him? Jane, please, get out of my life."

"I've been 'friends' with him since high school. I thought, I assumed that's why you were upset. Fuck. They're not even a big deal. He's just at Thanksgiving dinner or something."

I grab my phone from my pocket and shit, my hands won't stop shaking. Stupid Facebook app. Stupid, slow, shitty connection. Reception here sucks. Stupid fucking boy in a red sweater. Stupid, gorgeous girl with a huge smile and platinum blonde hair and little hand gripping his forearm. Stupid, stupid, stupid Bella.

"Yeah, whatever," I finally say. "So he spent the holiday with his girlfriend. This should upset me, why?"

"Don't do this, Bella. Like I can't hear your breaths and your voice right now. Do you want me to come over?"

"Why would I want that?"

I hang up and pack my bags. My parents don't ask questions, and my dad drives me to the bus station. If I'd waited until Sunday, he would have driven me back to Seattle. But he's mad at me for ruining another holiday. And I really don't give a shit. I don't care. Like making me get on a bus is punishment, like it's going to make me change my mind and stay in that house, in this town. I slam the door as a 'fuck you' to someone. Not my dad, definitely not him, but he's the one who receives it, and I know it makes him wince. Now I feel guilty. I feel ugly and disgusting and so mean. I'm the meanest person ever. I want to turn around and hold him and I want him to hold me. I want to cry for days. I don't, and he waves goodbye. I wave back. He hesitates, but ultimately drives off. The bus is lonely and dirty, and it's so late by the time I arrive in Seattle. I'm hungry. I'm hungry, but I don't want to eat anything. I start to wash an apple, but throw it across the kitchen. It hits the wall. I pick it up, because I can't let it sit there on the floor. I throw it out.

It's not like he wasn't going to spend the holiday with her because he loves me. But he kissed me one day, spent the holidays with her family the next, and then later that night, he told me he loved me. How does that work? Am I the only person who thinks that's messed up? I can't stop thinking about it. I can't stop making up stories in my head. How she got him to go. How he wanted to be with me. How he thought of me. How he struggled, but ultimately gave in, because he respects her and loves her—in a very different way from how he loves me. But I know the truth. He was always going to go. He woke up, showered, put on the red sweater, and went. Because, why not? It's nice having a girlfriend all day long and talking to someone who… what was it—makes you feel and dream all night. It's safe and nice. Like he said.

When he calls, I pick up and ignore the words he says. The words that made me see colors, and twirl around, and giggle, and feel light again.

"How am I ever supposed to believe you? How do I ever trust you?" I ask.

"Wait—what are you talking about?"

"You look like a normal, happy boyfriend in pictures. Like you're not the least bit tormented because you love someone else. I mean, I get it, separate lives, separate things, but… one day—if you were honest with me last night—one day, you want to be with me. And how do I know then that you're not… I don't know…"

"Jesus Christ, Bella, no. I'm not discussing this with you. I untagged myself knowing you'd…"

"See?"

"Shut up for a minute. I don't want to hurt you. I—"

"Like, I'm curious," I say, cutting him off. "What did you tell her when we were out all day? When you were kissing me on that corner, by the park, where did she think you were? I'm just curious."

"I'd never lie to you."

"I want to know what I'm getting myself into," I continue. I can't stop.

"Like I have a clue. I don't know, Bella."

"Just… say something reassuring for once."

"I'm going to make everything work."

I laugh. No one speaks while I smoke a cigarette.

"So, the turkey sucked," he tells me.

"I don't eat birds."

"I didn't know that about you."

"Um, when you took me to the bar to get all-you-can-eat wings, and I didn't have a single one, you didn't think, 'hey, maybe she hates chicken?'"

"No, I thought—'I always wondered if she had an eating disorder.'"

"Not funny."

"I know. I was kidding."

"So yeah, you're really not that observant."

"I was observing how hot you looked," he flirts.

"Did I look hot? I don't even remember what I was wearing."

"Black. Head to toe. Push-up bra. You don't need one. So distracting. Best legs ever. Prettiest girl in the bar. In New York. In the world."

"Is that so?"

"And smartest. And funniest."

"You're making me forget things," I whisper.

"That's kind of the point."

"Manipulative asshole."

"But you love me," he says.

"Always."

"I love you so much."

"I love that you always add that at the end."

"It's because 'I love you' isn't enough."

"Oh, Cullen, you have to try harder than that."

"I miss you."

"I want to run around after you and snatch your hat."

"Yeah?" He laughs.

"Yeah. Jane and I used to call you 'Hat Guy'."

"Really? I don't remember wearing hats back then."

"Yeah…I don't know. We were dumb. But I'm curious… why do you wear them now? It's like you never take them off."

"Uhhh… you're going to make fun of me." He clears his throat. He's stalling. He's weird. "Chelsea is always trying to get me to cut my hair, so I hide it. Yeah, I know. Lame."

See? I knew that chick was stupid.

"I love your hair," I tell him.

"Yeah?"

"It's a part of you."

"It's that simple, huh?"

"Don't you love mine?" I ask.

"So much."

XxXxX

Sunday morning, he calls and asks me what I'm up to.

"I'm eating a gross bagel."

"No big breakfast? Wasn't Sunday morning at the Swan house a big deal?"

"You have quite the memory," I tell him.

"Huh? You told me this the other day."

Maybe I did. I guess I did. Why this makes me want to smile and jump around a little, I'm not sure. But he's attentive. He remembers things. And every time we talk about something new we've learned about each other, I feel good. It feels nice, and exciting. The more I think about it, the more I want to focus on today, tomorrow, Tuesday, Wednesday, next month, next year. Maybe even the year after that. And then one more year. And then dozens more. And more, and more.

"Oh. Anyway, I thought I told you—I'm back in Seattle."

"No, you didn't tell me. I thought you were spending the weekend in Forks."

"Yeah, I was, but everyone was annoying, so I came back early."

"What happened?" Edward asks.

"Nothing. Whatever."

"Nothing made you leave Forks two days early?"

"Jane called. She was a bitch. I left."

"What'd she do?"

"Um…" Do I tell him? Do I start the day off by explaining that it's actually all his fault that I left home early? "She avoided me at the supermarket, then called to ask me if I'd seen those pictures tagged of you on Facebook. Like, I haven't spoken to you in months, is that really necessary?"

"Yeah. Probably not."

"Yeah, so that's it."

"That's it? You left because of Jane?"

"I was bored. Also, I'm just over it. She's… she's just a little—"

"She's definitely annoying, but maybe she's also very protective of you," he suggests.

"I don't need protection."

"Everyone does."

"I guess… I just don't want hers."

"Bella, she loves you, a lot. And I remember the way your parents looked at you. You're like, everything to them. Don't fuck things up with the people who love you because someone tagged me in Facebook pictures and that pissed you off."

"Way to make me feel like a loser."

"You're not a loser. You need to chill, though. Call your parents when I hang up."

"Noooo," I whine.

"No to calling them, or to me hanging up?"

"Both. Anyway, this conversation is boring."

"It's a good thing I have to go, then." I can tell he's nervous just telling me that.

"Of course you do," I snap. Why did I just snap?

"I'll be back."

"Yeah, 'kay."

"I love you," he whispers.

Whispers.

I love him back, but I don't tell him that. I throw the phone onto the couch. I throw out my bagel and settle myself down on the floor, turn on the television, and wait for him to come back. After a few minutes, I reach out for my phone and place it on the floor next to me. Then I change my mind, pick it up, and grip it tightly in my hand. I don't let go.

**Okay. Important stuff: this website sucks half the time, and alerts don't go out, I can't sign in, I get half my reviews and don't see the rest. I promised you guys review replies for the last chapter, but I didn't receive a lot of my reviews, and was unable to reply to a bunch. So here's hoping that everything is working properly with this update, and that I can send you the stuff I promised.**

**Again, thanks so much for sticking around. I want to hear your thoughts on Edward, Bella, Jane, Chelsea, turkey, wings, red sweaters. I don't know. I'll see you guys in about a week.**

**xo**


	25. I want it all

**I love my beta, WriteOnTime. I love Ciaobella27 for reading this for me. **

**I don't own Twilight.**

I wonder sometimes if it's supposed to be this easy—the whole cheating thing. Because that's pretty much what he's doing, and I seem to have no problem with it. On one hand, we've done nothing physical apart from that one kiss in New York, and we don't talk about sex, and we're not making plans to sneak off and do things that would make what we have absolutely disgusting and repulsive. On the other hand, we speak on the phone for hours like lovers, and text each other 'I love you' and 'I miss you' at every opportunity. And it's so easy. Like breathing. Until it's not.

Because the second he hangs up, or I hang up, and I'm over the euphoria of hearing his voice, this thing happens. Like every minute I live is overcast. Endless cloud and humidity, but the rain never falls. It makes everything sad, it makes it hard to take deep, real breaths. This disappears the second he's back, and I realize it's unhealthy. And I think he knows. And I think he hates it. And sometimes, I know he's about to say something and leave forever, and leave me to be happy on my own, get used to life without him. But he doesn't. Why would he? He's just as selfish as I am. Maybe this is why we've found each other.

Sometimes it feels like we've been doing this forever, but it's only been three days. They've been pretty busy days for him. He's been less and less available to talk to me. I wonder if the novelty of it all is wearing off, if he knows he has me and doesn't even need to make an effort anymore—like in movies, or books, or stories you hear from friends who are talking about their friends, or friends of their friends. My gut tells me I'm wrong, that it's not like that between us, and that if it were, I'd know better than to remain in this situation. I keep telling myself that we're just trying to figure things out, and that he's trying to be less obvious about it. But how is anything different now? It's like I know it's not different, but I have to convince myself it is, because I need a reason for why he's not on the phone with me all day, talking to me all day, laughing with me all day. He hasn't been laughing a lot. He hasn't been listening to me tell stories and saying "you're so funny" over and over again. I don't think I like that, but I'm willing to give him some more time, maybe a few days, before I bring it up and ask him what's wrong. Because I don't want to be nagging him. I don't want to drive him away.

Everything about my behavior is so pathetic. Jane would probably hit me over the head with something if she knew what I was doing. And I'd deserve it. What bothers me the most is that I know I shouldn't be in this situation, but I am. If any of my friends were doing what I'm doing with Edward now, I'd tell them to get out. Stop. Find someone who is willing to give up everything for you. I've judged so many people for their inability to leave messed-up situations. Their inability to let go of a man who wasn't giving them everything they deserved. I'm so ashamed right now of all the judgments that I've made. My parents tried to teach me one thing growing up; never judge. You don't know why someone is in the situation they're in, and you don't know how they got there. You certainly don't know the reasons why they're staying in it. And me? I'm just about as judgmental as you can get. I judge people, I pity them, I mock them for decisions they've made. I do this on a daily basis. It's so easy to do. It's so easy to say things, throw words around. And now I'm in love with a man who's dating someone else, and I'm just sitting here, waiting for something to happen, telling myself it's okay because I had dreams of him being with me. I suppose it makes it easier, blaming the dreams for the decisions I'm making. I wonder all day long if I'd be making different decisions if Edward wasn't Edward. I'd like to think that things would never have gotten to where they are now if not for my dreams. I don't know. I can't honestly say.

It's cold out, but I've agreed to meet Rosalie for drinks. Happy hour. Awesome. She's excited about an offer she received today for an internship, and wants to celebrate. I'm wearing cute things. I'm wearing a lacy black bra because I want to feel especially pretty today. Like if I wear pretty undergarments, I'll feel prettier on the outside. And if I'm really pretty, a boy on the opposite coast will feel it, or know it, or maybe his cousin will mention it in their next conversation, and he'll remember that I'm so, so pretty—and why is he with the blonde again? Pathetic. Sad. I laugh at how stupid I am. I check my phone. He's sent pretty words. I try to make mine pretty too, and try to picture his face as he reads them. He says that whenever he receives a text from me, or an email, or sees my number flashing across his screen, he's happier than he ever was before. So I asked him if that means he just gets happier and happier with each call, text, or email. He said yes. Is it possible that he's really that happy? He doesn't sound happy. He sounds stressed. He snaps. He says 'shit' and apologizes and says pretty things again. What am I doing to him? I don't know.

I expect to meet Rosalie at a bar near campus, but she wants to meet up in Royce's neighborhood. I'm not looking forward to hanging out with him, because he always asks about his uncle, and the firm. I hate both his uncle and the firm, so I have to lie. There is nothing more painful than having to fake enthusiasm for things you despise. I try to fake it, and I think Royce is too busy feeling good about finding me a job and reminding himself of how awesome he is to notice. And he is a decent guy. Felix says he is, and I trust Felix's judgments for the most part. Oh. I really hope Felix isn't here. I really, really hope Rosalie or Royce haven't invited him.

"Bella!"

Any anxiety I've been feeling disappears when I see Rosalie walking towards me outside the bar. Her smile is big. She's so friendly. She's been so good to me these past couple of months. I hug her, and she grabs me and hugs me back hard. She reminds me of Edward. Thinking of him makes something burst in my stomach, and I'm tingly all over.

"It's good to see you," she tells me. "How was New York?"

"Awesome. It was good."

"Did you get to meet up with Edward? I know he's been busy lately. Esme and Chelsea have been complaining about how difficult it is to get a hold of him."

The tingles disappear, and I know I'm pouting at the mere mention of her name.

"Yeah, a bunch of times," I mumble.

"Oh, cool. I know you guys are close."

"Yeah, we are."

Tell me she's not that stupid. She saw how we were when I moved out of Jane's and Edward held me when I was crying on her couch. She knows we talk on the phone all the time.

But I guess she's that stupid. She gives me the brightest smile, and we're at a table, and I'm being introduced to a bunch of people. They talk about shit that doesn't interest me. I pretend I'm not about to fall asleep listening to them talking about classes and internships and clerkships. Oh boy, they love to hear themselves speak. They love it. No wonder they're doing what they're doing in life. You silly motherfuckers, there are hundreds of law schools with thousands of law students and even more and more lawyers all around this country. Get over yourselves. And take it down a notch—everyone can hear you. You're awesome. We get it. You're a first-year nobody in an okay law school who can discuss a few decisions. I feel so old right now, but most of these people are older, and they're not undergrads in their 5654th year of college.

And because things can only get more annoying, Felix shows up. He sits next to me. He hugs me. He kisses my cheek. I'm on my third drink, so I'm sitting really close to him, our faces almost touching, and it's normal—we used to sit like this all the time. Except I know I won't do anything with him. And he won't try anything with me. We've been through this. He doesn't understand why we don't have sex and don't hang out anymore, but he respects my decisions, or so he tells me, and it's all good. But I feel weird. Like really weird. Like I know something is wrong. And I know what I'm feeling. I feel guilt. And this pisses me off, because it's late in New York, and he's probably curled up on the couch with her. And how fucking dare he?

"Felix, I need a cigarette, I'll be right back."

"Want me to come with?" he asks.

"No, it's cool." He hates cigarette smoke.

I stand outside the bar and take out my phone. It's too cold to text. It's disgusting out. I text anyway. He calls me instead of texting back.

"Having fun with my cousin?"

"Yes, she's awesome. Her friends are losers," I tell him.

"Still at the bar?"

"Yeah, I took a cigarette break. It's cold."

"Go back inside, Bella. I don't want you to—"

"So warm me up."

"Yeah?" He chuckles.

"Yeah."

"Are you wearing gloves?"

"Random, Edward."

"Hat?" he continues.

"Ugh. No."

"Is your nose red?"

"Are you high?"

"I miss you," he says.

"God, I miss you."

"Go back inside, call me tonight when you're back at your apartment."

"Yeah."

I hang up. Why is he so sexy? Am I just drunk? No. His voice is hot. And I'm a little drunk. There was nothing hot about that conversation, but Edward asked me if my nose was red, and that made me want to grab him through my phone and rub myself against him and devour his face and scratch and bite and fuck… I need to go home. Otherwise being here is just going to be more depressing. I just want him. And I want him when I go back to my apartment. I want him in bed. I want him everywhere. Everywhere I go, every room I walk into, I allow myself to fantasize that he'll be sitting there, or standing there, waiting for me. Surprise, Bella. And after that, only good things happen. Kisses and sex and words and forever. But he wasn't in my office when I walked in this morning. He wasn't at my apartment when I returned home. He wasn't sitting in the back row of my second class, like he was in my daydream.

I forgot to light a cigarette when I came out, but it's just too cold for that now. I turn to find Rosalie standing a few feet away from me, looking out into the street.

"Hey, what are you doing out here?" I ask her.

"I saw you walking out. You looked upset."

"Um, I'm good. I just wanted a cigarette."

"Oh, okay. Good."

"Yeah."

"Bella?" she says.

"Hmmm?"

"Were you on the phone with my cousin?"

"Yeah."

I try really hard to remember if there was anything I said that could tip her off that Edward and I are… I don't know. 'Dating'? Sure. Let's call it that it. I try really hard to make it seem like I'm not trying hard to remember.

"Bella, are you guys having an affair?"

"Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry, I really hate getting involved in this type of situation, but he's my cousin, and I didn't mean to listen in on your conversation, but I—"

"It's cool, Rose. We're just good friends." Sick. Good friends. I want to cry and throw something and throw up.

"Be honest with me."

"It's really cold out here," I point out.

"Bella, I let you live with me. I helped you find a job. You're my friend. I have to know—"

"Why? It doesn't matter."

"He's with someone, of course it matters. Chelsea is my friend. She's a good person."

"Rosalie, I promise, nothing happened." Except he kissed me. And he loves me. And oh my God, let me show you the texts he sent me this morning. He's the sweetest. He makes everything bright. He's everything. Shut up. Don't ruin this.

"Bella…"

"Rose, he's my friend. I miss him a lot."

"This is really none of my business—"

"Then why are you still talking about it? It's cold, let's go back inside."

I'm so embarrassed. This is so embarrassing. But also, I'm really angry. If she says anything to Edward, or anything to Chelsea… I will destroy her. I don't know how, but I will. If she ruins this for me, I will make sure she never forgets it. And fuck, this is so bad. I feel like this small, small person right now. Guilty. Dirty. Disgusting. Or course sweet, kind Rosalie would be the first to find out about this.

"No," she says. "It's none of my business, and I'm not going to call Chelsea and tell her that her boyfriend is cheating on her. But… it all makes sense now. You guys started this when he was in Seattle. I just assumed… I never thought he'd do anything like that, or that you'd be okay just… You're better than this."

"Rose, don't…"

"You are," she insists. "And so is he. I'm so mad at him right now."

"Listen, it's not like that. We haven't done anything, and we're not going to…"

Her face scrunches up and she starts shaking her head. "I don't even want to know about _that_. I'm just so… disappointed."

"In me?" I ask her.

"In everyone."

"But nothing happened. You need to relax."

"Why? You could have someone like Felix, who adores you, and you'd rather have an affair with my cousin? It makes no sense."

"It's not… it's not affair. And you don't understand, Edward was… like back then, and through the years…"

"No, I understand," she tells me. "He was your first love. But we grow up, and we get over those things. That's part of life."

"Oh, this is bullshit. Don't give me a lecture on life."

"I don't want to lecture you."

"Then don't. I'm not sleeping with your cousin. No need to worry."

I think she's going shout at me. Say cruel things. I expect her to walk away. I don't know. I wait for her to do something, say something, and she does—but it's definitely not what I expected. She hugs me. Tight and long and real.

"Bella, you're gorgeous. You can have any guy—"

"I just want him."

"But why?" she whispers.

"I've loved him since I walked into class late and sat behind him. When I saw him at your party, it was like… I can't even describe what I felt."

Rosalie fumbles through her bag and shakes her head. "I'm sorry. You need a tissue," she says. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm not crying."

"Bella, sometimes things don't work out for the simplest reasons. Like timing. Or circumstances. Take me and Emmett, for instance. I had such a big crush on him. I thought we'd be able to make things work. When he told me he was going to be a dad, I was crushed, but I always thought maybe next year, or the next. Maybe I'll go to college in Port Angeles. Or move there after college. Or maybe he'll move to where I am. Wishful thinking. Sometimes, things just don't happen. And you can try to hold on to people, or your fantasies, or you can let go and live your life."

"It wasn't just a crush, Rose," I snap. "And it sucks for you and Emmett, but you can always do something to make it work."

"Bella, no. I have my life. I want to achieve certain things. He has a beautiful kid he's never going to live more than ten minutes away from. I'm not moving to Forks just to try things out with a guy I liked in high school. You have to learn to let go, or you're not doing anything with your life."

"That's your choice. And I get it, you and Emmett had a thing, but your cousin and I love each other."

She sighs. "I'm not going to get through to you."

I shrug.

"So what now?" she asks me.

"Nothing."

"And you're willing to just wait?"

"I'm not waiting for anything."

"Then what are you doing?"

"Getting another drink," I tell her.

"That's probably a good idea."

She gives me a strange look. I don't know what it is. I think maybe disgust, but that's not her style. Pity. Possibly. Contempt. Probably not. Confusion. Yeah. That makes sense.

XxXxX

I stumble into my apartment. I fall asleep in my clothes. I wake up because someone is calling me. It's super late. No, it's not. It's only ten thirty. I find my phone. It's him. It's always him.

"Hi," I try to sing. He likes to hear me smile.

"Did I wake you? I'm sorry."

"You're not."

"I'm not," he agrees.

I yawn and he laughs. "Bella, go back to sleep."

"No. I had to get up anyway. I'm like lying here in my jeans and coat."

"Someone partied hard…"

"Shut up."

"Someone's a little drunk."

"Edward…"

"I like drunk Bella," he tells me. He seems to be in a better mood than usual.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I'm only a little tipsy. Not your lucky day."

"I disagree," he says.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Weren't you about to take off your clothes?"

"Shhh. Be good."

"I'm tired of being good."

"So you want to be bad."

He laughs. "Well, it's not like I haven't been bad already."

"You've been bad tonight?" I ask. I want him to die.

"I've been bad for weeks."

"Ah."

"I can't stop thinking about you," he says.

I take off my coat and shrug off my sweater. I'm too lazy to pull off my jeans. They're tight. I can just sleep like this. But they're so tight. It won't be comfortable. I undo the top button and the zipper.

"That's bad. But good. And bad," I manage to say between yawns.

"I can't hear you. Stop moving around and talking to yourself."

"Sorry, I was taking off my top."

"Not fair," he says.

"What's not fair?"

"I didn't get to watch."

"Edward…"

"What?"

"I don't know," I whisper. "Nothing."

"I miss you."

"I miss you too."

"I haven't seen you like that in… years."

His voice. I close my eyes, and everything comes back. His eyes and his smiles and his arms and how we moved and loved and fucked and I just want it all.

"Bella? Shit. Don't be mad at me. I just… I don't want to stay away from you. I wanted you in New York. I want you now."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This is where everything changes. This is where I say 'go away' or 'be good'… or it's where I tease and whisper and call him 'baby' and let him hear me and let him tell me what to do. How to do it. Or… or…

"You'd love to see me now," I tell him.

Decision made.

"Yeah?"

"I'm half naked on my bed."

"Yeah?"

"I still have my jeans on… but just a bra."

"What color?"

"Black."

"I love you in black. Your skin…"

"Yeah. I thought of you when I wore it today."

"Really?" he asks.

"Yes."

"I think of you all the time," he tells me.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I've never thought about anyone as much as I think of you. It's crazy."

"My jeans are tight," I inform him.

"So take them off."

"Okay."

They're off.

"When you fell asleep at Jane's and I was watching the news, it was dark in the room, and the television brightened the room. The flashes of light, on your legs… I couldn't stop staring. I wanted to put my hands all over, and kiss them. Your knees. Inside your thighs. I want it all."

"I wanted you to touch me," I confess.

"And in New York… so many times I wanted to kiss you. I would have begged you to touch me. Sleep with me. You have no idea."

"I do. On my couch, when we slept on it together, I woke up, and I wanted you so much… I was like, touching… I wanted to turn around and…"

"Shit. When I kissed you… nothing has ever… you have no idea, Bella."

I do. I know. I get it. I know. _He _has no idea. I close my eyes, and think of him. How warm he was next to me. How good he felt. How much I wanted him. I want him. I really, really do. I want him in every way I didn't get to have him when we were kids. I want him in all the ways I did have him, but more, more, more… not just three weeks. I want time. I want more time with him. I'm so desperate for him. I want to tell him how I always think of him before I sleep. I think of him, and when I really, really want him, I come and come and say his name and imagine his body over me, under me. His mouth. His hands. I bite down on my hand when I have to scream. I remember Edward at seventeen making me soar. And I make up stories in my head of how he'll come over, fuck me, love me. I don't even know the difference when it comes to him. I want to tell him all of this.

My hand… my hand is everywhere. All I need is to listen to him breathe. I can hear how much he wants to be here just by the way he breathes. And he knows what I'm doing. He knows that I touched my nipples, and he knows I'm doing everything he wants to do. He says nothing. I say nothing. My eyes are closed. I just think of nothing but him. Nothing but the boy and the man and what was and what will be, because right now I'm finally admitting to myself that it will happen. He's going to come, or I'm going to go, and I'll kiss him and touch him and do so many dirty things. He'll love it. He'll be sweet and rough and so, so good. I'll scream and say 'please' and be good to him, but so very bad, and it will be like nothing before. It will be like nothing else. I think of the possibilities. I think of what I want right now. I want his mouth. I tell him this. He makes a sound. Like a gasp. He says "yeah" and he says my name and… and… when I'm about to have the best orgasm in months and months, he says my name again, and keeps saying 'shit' and 'Jesus' and tells me things. Things he says all the time. Love, want, Bella, beautiful… words and more words and his _voice. _I'm done, and he's silent, and I do this stupid purring thing.

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

He says nothing. I expect the clichés. "That was hot" or "You sounded so hot" or… I don't know. Something. But he's so quiet.

"Edward?"

"Sorry. Yeah?"

"Nothing. You're super quiet," I tell him.

"I don't know what to say. That…"

"Lemme help you out. That… was hot? Yes? No? Are you over it?"

He laughs. It makes me feel less anxious and paranoid. "Definitely not over it. I was trying to come up with a more original way of saying 'that's the hottest thing I've ever taken part of in my life', but my brain hasn't regained its functions. I just… please do it again?"

We both giggle. He sounds so pretty.

"I… yeah, I don't know what came over me. I didn't… ugh, why is this so awkward?" I ask him.

"Because it is."

"So you were just listening, then?"

"Yeah."

"Weird. Boys usually take care of business on the other end."

"Do you do this on a daily basis?" he asks with a chuckle.

"No, but I've done it a lot before. But… different. I don't know."

"Believe me, I really want to do it now—"

"So let me—"

"It's okay. I can't."

"Oh. Duh."

"No," he quickly says. "It's… I'm at Demetri's, so…"

"Ew! You just let me. Oh my God. Gross. Is he _there?_"

"He's inside. Of course not."

"Edward!"

"Bel, I'm sorry, but I wasn't going to stop you," he tells me.

"I feel so dirty."

"You're definitely a little dirty."

"Fuck you."

"I love you. I don't want to hang up."

"Then don't."

If he hangs up, I'll get to stay up and think about how I just made myself come while on the phone with him. It's like the last innocent part of our relationship that we've been holding onto is gone. I don't want to dwell on that. So if I make him talk to me until I fall asleep, I won't have to think about it until tomorrow. And that's exactly what I do. I make him talk and talk and talk, and I wonder why he's at Demetri's so late, but I know they hang out until four or five in the morning sometimes, smoking, drinking, talking. I smile because he's not at his apartment. I smile and immediately feel bad, and gross, but then I smile again, because yeah, he's not at his apartment, and that makes me happy.

XxXxX

_I'm sorry I missed your call. I know you're in class now. Talk later?_

I stare at his text and frown. It's one of those texts you receive that you can't really respond to. He knows I'm in class, so he'll call me later. It's true, I'm here, and I can't talk to him, but I want to text back and forth, I want more than 'talk later?'

I've been avoiding him all day. I've made a decision. I'm going to tell him that I can't do this anymore. I won't give him an ultimatum; I'll just say it's done. We can be friends and talk once in a while, but that's it. If he wants me as much as he says he does, he'll understand that he has to make a decision. If he was never planning on making a decision, I'll know that I did the right thing. Because _this_? This thing we have? It's not the right thing. And I'm not even talking about morals and right or wrong—I'm talking about the right thing for me. I'm not going to be the girl who has phone sex with a guy who's going to share a bed with his girlfriend later that night. No. Jesus. I could be out having a life. Rosalie was right. I deserve better. And Edward? I'm annoyed. I'm not sure why I'm so annoyed, but I really am. I'm the one who decided to put on a show last night, so to speak. And it was probably a bad idea, but he started it. He started it with that stupid kiss, and telling me he loves me, and wants me. He's the one in a relationship, not me. And while I'm certainly not an innocent party here, I wouldn't have done or said half the things I have if he hadn't made clear that it was more than okay. I don't want to be mad at him. I don't want to be annoyed like I am. But at the end of the day, I have given everything I can possibly give. It's not much, but it's all I've got. Edward? He's living with another woman. It sucks. It hurts—a lot. It's the truth. I have to face reality.

I skip my last class. It's an evening class, and I'm tired. I drank too much last night, and stayed up too late. Work this morning was awful. I probably shouldn't have important conversations in the state that I'm in, but if I put it off… who knows? I keep playing with my phone, dialing his number but hanging up before it rings. How am I supposed to say it? How do I do this? Especially when I don't want to. I jump when my phone rings. It's like a sign. I'm supposed to do this now. Except it's not Edward, it's Jane.

"Hey."

"Bella, hi. What's up?"

"Um, nothing. How are you?" I mumble.

"Fine… Uh, so Jasper's in town this weekend. He wants to get together with you."

"Oh. Well, he can call me."

"Oh."

"Yeah…"

"Cool. I'll tell him that." Her tone is cold and dry and bad, bad things.

"Okay."

"So you're around this weekend?" she asks.

"Yes."

"Bella…"

"What, Jane?"

"I don't want things to be weird like this. I'm sure I'll be seeing you this weekend, and—"

"You don't have to," I tell her. "We can make sure that this doesn't happen."

"What's wrong, Bella? You sound upset."

I hate it when she does this. I'm mad at her. I wasn't upset before she called.

"I'm fine." Okay, not really, but it's none of her business.

"You're not. Talk to me."

"There's nothing… forget it. It's all good."

"You know, you get into these moods," Jane asks. "Agitated, weird, mean. Had I known you were in one of these moods, I wouldn't have called you."

"Here we go again… you love picking fights, don't you?"

"You're the one picking a fight!" she cries. "I was trying to smooth things over and make plans to hang out."

"Yeah, that's exactly what happened. Whatever, I have to go. I have a few calls to make."

"Oh, with the mood you're in, good luck with that!"

She hangs up, and I have to stop in the middle of the street to take a very deep breath. Jane. She aggravates me. But she's right. I'm in one of those moods. I have been, since I woke up this morning. But she… I can't stand her anymore. The mere thought of her makes me want to claw her eyes out. It's not normal, but it just… is. I don't want to see her this weekend. I don't know why Jasper is hanging out with her—they haven't been speaking for months. Except I don't know what she's been up to since September. For all I know, they're super tight again. Fucking twins. Of course they are. But if it means pissing her off, I'll hang out with Jasper and make sure she ends up picking a fight with him because he didn't spend enough time with his own sister. It always happens. This time, however, I won't feel bad, and I'll make sure she's livid.

Fuck. What am I thinking right now? She's right. Stupid Jane is right. I should avoid talking to anyone. Maybe I should wait until tomorrow to talk to Edward. It's so much easier to just wait until tomorrow. Put it off. Yeah. It's easier to talk to him during the day, anyway. No one around. My stomach feels all weird. I'm nervous, like before an interview or test. Deep, deep breaths. I'll tell him. He'll break up with her. It will be okay. Or he won't break up with her, and I'll recover. Or he'll break up with her, but I'll always be the person who broke them up. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. My head.

_Hey Edward, I'm going out. I'll call if I get in before midnight. I love you._

I try not to cry. I don't like lying to him. I want to be able to tell him "I love you" all the time. I hope he lets me. I love him so much.

XxXxX

I'm late. I was supposed to meet up with these girls for a stupid presentation ten minutes ago. My jeans were too tight, so I gave up and threw on a dress instead. I needed tights. I couldn't find them. Then I found them, but I looked stupid in flats. I looked for my boots. Not those boots, the tall ones. Not the tall ones with heels, the tall, flat boots. Why does any of this matter? And it's almost noon—where is Edward? I called three times, and got his voicemail. It's like the universe doesn't want us to talk. But we're going to talk, and I'm going to be brave. I've been thinking about this all night. I turned off my phone and decided what I want to say. I'll be sweet. I'll be nice. I'll tell him I expect nothing, but I can't be his lover. No way. He'll understand. He won't blame me. If he does, he's a total douche. I don't want a douche.

I grab my laptop and place it in my bag. My phone rings, and I ignore it. I know it's that stupid girl with the curly hair. She's going to tell me I'm late again. I run down the stairs and my phone rings again. I swing open the door. Fuck. I should just answer.

"Hey, I'm almost there. I'm so—"

"Bella? Shit. Are you on your way out?"

"Huh?"

"God, you're beautiful."

**Uch, this chapter. It took forever to get 'right' and we'll never know if I did. Anyway, thanks so much for reading, reviewing, recommending this to people. I know you guys have some strong opinions about the characters here and the choices they've been making. I'd love to know if anything has changed, and what you thought about what went on this time around. **

**I love you guys.**

**I love the girls on the gazebo. **

**I love my dear friend stella luna sky's newest story, **_**Grand Jeté. It's beautiful, like her.**_

___**I love "Dream a Little Dream" by thelittlestingenue. It's the cutest thing you'll read, I promise. **_


	26. I'm here

**Thank you Writeontime for looking at this even though you should be lying on a beach, getting a tan.**

**Thank you Ciaobella27 for reading my stuff and collaborating with me on the best story of all time. Omg. BotS! **

**I don't own Twilight.**

"Edward? What? I can't talk to you right now. I'm running late."

"Bella, I—"

"I'll call you later."

I hang up. This is the last thing I need right now. It's raining. I'm late. Shit. Shit. Shit. I forgot the copies of the paper I need for the meeting upstairs. It took me forever to get them bound yesterday, and I can't show up without them. Annoyed, I throw my phone into my bag and let the door swing shut behind me. I'm sweaty and out of breath, running back up the staircase to my apartment. Luckily, my keys are still in my hand, and I'm in. I have the folder with all the copies inside, I stick it in my bag, and I'm on my way out again. Except my tights get caught on the edge of my coffee table, and my doorbell rings, and I'm kicking off my boots, shouting to let the person know I'm coming, pulling off my ruined tights, and trying not to fall flat on my face, all at once.

"Just come in!" I shout, realizing that I never completely shut the door behind me, and I don't have to walk down the hallway to open it. I also realize that this is how people get murdered—by letting strangers into their apartments.

"Shit! Don't come in! Or come in if I know you. Ugh. I'll be right there!"

I pick up my bag again, praying that my laptop isn't dead after being slammed around everywhere, and walk barefoot down the hallway, staring at the bruises on my legs I got at the airport. I always end up hurting myself by bumping into things at airports. Fuck. I'm going to freeze, and I can't wear my rain boots without socks. Whatever. It's a short meeting. I'll hand over everything I have and come back. I'll run. It's not the end of the world.

Whoever rang the doorbell hasn't bothered to let themselves in. I open the door, cautiously, and this must be one of those really, really vivid dreams where nothing goes right, but then everything goes right. And I'm going to wake up any second now. Any second.

"Holy shit. What are you doing here?"

"Are you okay?" he asks me. _He_ asks me. He's here. He's asking me a question.

"I'm… dude, you're, like, here."

He laughs, and drops his bags. Bags. Multiple. Okay, just two bigger ones and a messenger bag.

"Yeah. Bella, come here."

I hold on tightly to my bag. He looks at me like I'm crazy. I realize he wants me to walk over to him. He's still standing right outside my door. I should fling myself at him. I should jump and let him catch me. I want a movie kiss. I want zippers down, skirts up, slamming, crazy, hallway sex. Then I want to move inside. And he needs to still be inside me. And there's the couch, and the bed, and right now what happened to my tights seems so convenient. Like God wanted that to happen. Made it happen. I want to tell Edward this. I'm losing my mind. I stare at him. I take three steps. His arms open. I'm in them. He hugs and hugs and hugs. I can't breathe. I push him away.

"You were on your way out," he says. "If you want, I can go to Ros—"

"Yeah, I have to meet some people for a project. You're um, welcome to stay, or I don't know…"

"Do you need a ride? I… I rented a car."

"What? You don't drive," I remind him.

"I do drive. I just never renewed my license. I took care of that a few weeks ago."

He reaches back and removes his wallet from his pocket. I take the license he hands me. He's smiling in the picture, like a little boy. I find this funny. It makes me giggle. His hand is on mine. We stare at our hands together. I think I gasp. My hand is small and white, and his nails are nicer than mine. I love the hair on the back of his hand. I want to touch it. He's so beautiful. I study his fingers. I study the picture. His scar was more prominent. It's healed so fast, it's healed so perfectly. It's the scar I know. It's finally the scar I know.

"Oh. You didn't say anything…" I place the license back in his hand and wrap my arms around my waist.

"I thought maybe I could take you somewhere, when you were in New York, but you wanted to do stuff in the city."

"You got your license to drive me around?"

"No… I just thought, if I ever leave New York, I'll need a car," he explains. "And then since I had it…"

"Cool. Awesome. Congratulations." You should have told me. That fact that you didn't makes me wonder if it had something to do with Chelsea.

"Bella, are you okay?"

I look up into his eyes. It makes me wince. I have to look away. I'm not ready to look into his eyes. Ten minutes ago, I was thinking about how I'm going to tell him that this is over. And he's here now. He's here, and I'm not sure why. Is he here because of what happened over the phone the other night? I refuse to believe that he's here for sex. But if I had the money, and if I had the means to fly out to New York, wouldn't I do it? Yes. No. I don't know. Probably. Maybe. Of course. I have to tell him. But I have to take care of this first. But… but… he's here. And he smells so good. And he looks so good. And I know that if I let him, everything will be good. Just let him, Bella. Ask him for a ride, hand over the stuff, get back in the car, turn around, touch, touch, touch, and ask him to bring you back and fuck you and then when you're done, tie him up and never let him leave again.

"I'm fine. And um, yeah, could you drop me off? It'll only take a second."

"Of course, anything."

"Yeah. You can leave your bags inside…"

"Thanks."

"Does Rosalie know you're here?" I ask.

"No."

"Oh."

"Shit. Do you want me to put my bags back in… Do you have plans? I can stay with Rose. I just thought…"

"No. No plans," I assure him. "It's just… we'll talk about it later. You can stay, of course."

"Talk about what later?"

"Things. I mean… there's stuff to talk about."

"Right."

And he's such a boy, because he has no idea what I mean. Is he that stupid? Could he possibly be that clueless? I tell him to leave the bags in the living room, by the couch, because if they end up in my room, so will he, and I don't know if I want that to happen. He's here in Seattle. With more than one bag. The scar is right. His face is his face. His hat is his hat. It's just like my dreams. Especially that one dream, in which he's always wearing that blue shirt, like the one he's wearing now under his jacket. But I hate that dream. I hate how sad I am in it. How sad he is. Of course we're sad. He'll have to go back. I can't do this if he has to go back. He can sleep on the couch. He will not sleep with me. I'm doing what I said I would do. I'm telling him this is over. I'm not sleeping with him, but God… I really, really want to sleep with him. Like if I do, I'll keep him here. Convince him to stay. Women do it all the time, right? Cast some sort of sex-spell and steal men away from other women. It happens, right?

"You look like you're about to throw up," he tells me.

"Yeah, I probably am."

My phone begins to ring again. "I really have to go. So if you want…"

"Of course. Let's go."

We get lost on our way, because he doesn't listen to me when I tell him to take the first left. He listens to the stupid voice from his GPS thing, which tells him to go straight for another mile.

"Edward, why are you listening to her? I told you… I mean, I live here."

"They're never wrong," he insists.

"Uh, yeah they are. What's it gonna take for you to listen to me? Do I have to tell you to take the next left in a robotic sex voice?"

And we miss the next turn because he's laughing.

"So useless. Why do I keep you around?" I tease.

"Good question. Better question: why am I even here? You should've seen your face when you hung up on me."

"Wait, what?"

"I was outside your building when I called. I was having a moment, staring up at you and trying to make it perfect, you know, the kind of thing you'll never forget, and you hung up on me and threw your phone into your bag."

"Dude, I was running late. I'm still running late."

"I know," he says, and his hand is on my knee. "I'm sorry I ruined your day."

And I fuck up, because when I move my hand over his to push it away, I forget what I'm supposed to be doing, and leave it there.

"You didn't ruin my day," I mumble. "Finally! Park there. Don't move. Move if the cops come. It'll only take a second."

It takes more than a second. It takes about twenty minutes for them to agree that everything looks good. I want to tell these girls that I don't give a fuck. This is college. It's not that serious. We're all going to pass. We'll all probably get As.

Edward is waiting for me in the shiny silver car he rented. I wonder if he remembers the car he drove when he lived in Forks. It was silver. It was a Volvo. It was shiny. It was where we had our first kiss, down the street from my house, while it was raining outside. My conversations with Edward over the past couple of months lead me to believe that he doesn't remember the details like I do. He remembers me. He remembers us. I think he remembers how he felt. At first it hurt me that the memories were not as vivid for him as they were for me, but now I see things a little differently. Despite his shitty memory and lack of dreams, there was something about what we had that made him want to know me again. I've spent six years dreaming about him, about us, about our future together. He had none of that, and yet… I don't know. I'd like to believe I was special. Maybe different. Something.

"Hey, sorry about that," I say, sliding into the passenger seat. "I hate school."

"Don't worry about it."

"Did anyone tell you to move?"

"No, it's all good. So, which way do I go?"

"Um, your girlfriend can tell you. Turn her on."

"No way." Edward laughs. "You promised you'd give me directions in a robotic sex voice."

"I don't want to give you any ideas."

"You don't have to do anything."

"Oh, so you've already got ideas?"

"Long flight," he says.

"Gross. Is that what you think about with people sitting really close to you on a plane?"

"It's what I think about all the time."

Oh boy. He's horny. He probably expects sex. I expect sex. I want it. I crave it. I need it. I think I should touch him now. I think I should move closer, and kiss his neck, and run my hand down his chest and stomach, and touch him until he tells me to stop, because we're in a car, and we're almost home, and I can touch him more there, and this is really, really bad, because I can't think of anything but how he's going to taste. He's going to taste so good. I used to love his smell, his sounds, his taste. I used to be addicted. I close my eyes just for a second and imagine licking him. Shit. I can't do this. We're going to get lost again.

"Dude, no. Right."

"Fuck it. I'm turning this on."

The stupid automated voice doesn't screw it up this time, and we're parking the car half a block from my apartment. Edward sucks at parallel parking. I tell him to let me try, but he's annoyed now, and he asks me to stop talking. Nice.

I notice how he hesitates before he climbs up the few steps in front of my building. I want to hold out my hand, let him know that I want him here, because I do, but… but it has to be on my terms. And I'm giving myself ten minutes. In the next ten minutes, I'm going to tell him that he can't stay here tonight and expect us to act like a couple. We're not a couple. I'm not sleeping with another woman's boyfriend.

Of course, it's entirely possible that he broke up with her. It's possible, but wouldn't he have told me something? I don't know, in a text, or maybe he could have called me, or told me to my face when he walked into my apartment an hour ago. If you have good news like that, if you flew across the country to tell someone you want to be with them, you just say it. You don't keep it inside. You say it, and you let that person know. If he had anything to tell me, he would have said it already. He's here… I don't know. Maybe he's here because he just wants to hook up. Maybe he really misses me and wants to spend some time with me. Maybe he realizes that he has to make a choice, but he has to see if I'm worth it. Well, fuck that. He makes that choice now. How dare he walk into my home and act like it's normal, like it's okay?

I guess I slam the door behind us once we're inside, and I'm pretty sure he can see my face as we take off our jackets, and he's not stupid. He's not. He knows my face. And maybe that's why my face is in his hands, and his lips are on my nose and cheeks and forehead. And his hands move down, and they move behind me, and he's holding me, rocking me, crushing me.

"I'm here. I'm here. I'm here," he says over and over again.

I nod, my head against his chest. I need to put my arms around him. God, he's bigger than he was. Maybe not taller, but why did I think he was that same skinny boy? I look up at him, and I feel so tiny, and I like this feeling, I like how he's holding me. I like how he's looking at me. He's never looked at me this way.

"I'm here," he repeats. "What's wrong?"

"Why?"

"Why?"

"Yeah. Why are you here?"

"Are you being serious right now?" he asks.

"So serious. I… what are you doing here, Edward?"

"I'm here to see you."

"Why?"

"Bella. You're freaking me out. Do you want me to go?"

"No," I whisper, "but I want to know what you're here for."

"You're here. I told you I'd…"

"You… when do you go back?"

His hands are no longer on me. He's no longer holding me.

"You want to know when I'm going back?" he asks.

"I don't know! Yeah…"

"Shit. This was such a mistake."

"What? Oh, awesome. Of course it was. Did you expect me to throw my arms around you and not ask any questions?"

"Of course not. But Bella, I just left my entire life in New York and came here, and if you've been… all these months, and especially this past week, was it a game? I thought…"

"You can't do this," I tell him. "I won't do this."

"Do what?"

"How long… does she know you're here?" I ask.

"No, she doesn't. Bella, that's over. I broke up with her."

"Are you serious?"

He rolls his eyes. "Would I lie to you about that?"

He runs his hands through his hair and leans against the wall, his eyes closed. I tug on his shirt and he looks down at me, and he doesn't look happy.

"You're tired. Let's sit."

I drag him to the living room, never letting go of his shirt. I'm a stupid, stupid girl who is still repeating his words in my head, over and over again. What am I supposed to say? Am I supposed to celebrate? Smile? Jump? Act sad, like someone died? Be polite and nod? I don't know what to do. I just want to comfort him. I also want to slap him, but first… God, I love this man, and I don't want him sad. And he looks so tired and sad. When he sits down on the couch, I crawl onto his lap. I wrap my arms around him and kiss his chest.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"Yeah."

"No, really, like, are you—"

"Bella, I'm here. I'm okay."

I kiss his chest again, then his chin. "But, like, is she okay? I mean, I know she doesn't handle stressful situations well, and you said she can't sleep alone, I mean—"

"She'll be fine. She knew this was coming."

"But how—?"

"I really don't want to…" he starts. I make my eyes big. It works. "Fine. I told her back in October that I… I suggested that we consider not renewing the lease—our lease was up November 1st—but she said she'd take over, because it had been in both our names. She knew… she was stubborn, and said she wanted to stay in the apartment, it's convenient, or whatever. I told her I wasn't sure what I wanted. Every time she brought up moving here, I ignored her. I was a dick. I couldn't just leave. If you… if you hadn't been in the picture, maybe it would have been easier to leave, because I felt like such an asshole, and I didn't want things to end like that between us, I didn't want to have to tell her there was someone else. But honestly, maybe I wasn't ready to break up with her then, because I couldn't do it. And if I hadn't… without you, yeah… I would've never… So we stayed in the apartment, and things were fine. Bella, she's a great person, I love her, but you were always on my mind. It felt wrong, but I thought… shit, I didn't think, and then you came to visit, and I knew."

"This is so confusing."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm sorry," he tells me, and I notice that he's hugging me back now. I look into his eyes and hold his face in my hands. He's so beautiful. I run my thumbs over his eyebrows and smile.

"Confuse me more."

He smiles back and starts to play with my hair.

"On my way back from dropping you off at the airport, I knew I had to do it. I tried talking to her that night, but she freaked out. We were spending the holiday with her family, and I shouldn't have brought it up, but I was… I really wanted to be here. But she really freaked out, and I thought yeah, this isn't going to happen quickly. We spoke on the phone that night, and I told you I loved you. I was so angry. Both of you were so… Anyway, her sister and her husband spent the weekend with us. I finally told her it's over Monday morning. It sucked, Bella. I really wanted to talk to you about it."

"Why didn't you? Why didn't you tell me?" I ask.

"What if you'd said 'no'? What if you'd told me not to leave her?"

"Why would I do that?"

"I don't know. You're… you don't… I didn't want to take that risk. And Demetri said I shouldn't put you in the middle of things, that I should only tell you once it's all over."

"Demetri? Who is he now? Dr. Phil? You're my best friend. You're supposed to tell me shit."

"He's my best friend too, and he was right."

"So why didn't you tell me after?" I ask him.

"Demetri—"

"Jesus Christ!"

"Shut up," he says. Rude, but I like it when he gets all snippy and annoyed with me. "Demetri said I should just show up. What if—"

"What if I'd told you not to come? Why the fuck would I do that?"

"Bella, I don't know. I didn't know what to tell you, so I thought I'd surprise you."

"I'm surprised," I whisper.

"Yeah?"

"Totally surprised."

"Are we cool?" he asks. What a stupid question. I roll my eyes at him and he laughs.

"I don't have to stay here. I know showing up here like I did was weird—"

"You just wanted to make sure I felt sorry enough for you to let you sleep on the couch. Did Demetri suggest that you show up with your bags?" I ask. "Also, just two bags?"

"The rest of my stuff's at Demetri's. I don't have a lot of clothes, and I left everything else at the apartment."

"A lot of stuff?".

"Yeah… Yeah. Books, stuff my mom bought for the kitchen. The television was mine—twenty-third birthday present. Brand new."

"You should—"

"Shit, Bella, I can't take apart the apartment."

"You don't want to go back? Like, you're not here just temporarily?"

"You're freaking me out again," he says. "I'm here. If you don't want me, just say it. I'll figure out what to do, but I'm here. And you're fucking sitting on my lap, and you're touching me like you want me. So tell me what you're thinking."

"You're here. And my TV is pretty awesome—look, my dad bought it for me when I moved out of Jane's. We can share."

"I promise, I'll get my own place soon. We'll look together."

I hold on so tight, I shake my head so hard, I kiss his neck and put my fingers in his nice, pretty hair.

"No, no, no. Let's not talk about you going anywhere. Stay until I'm sick of you?"

"Yeah." He laughs.

"I love you," I tell him. "I want to ask you other stuff, but I'd rather cuddle."

"Good, you talk too much."

"Asshole!"

"I'm hungry," he says. His eyes are so green. So wide. I love them, so I kiss them. Then I make him a sandwich, and eat most of it myself. And then I make him wash his hands before he comes into my bed. He's so tired, and he looks so tired, and he wants to nap. I make him take off his shirt because it smells like airplane. He asks if he can take off his pants, because they also smell like airplane, but mostly because it would be more comfortable to nap this way. He's in a thin white t-shirt and grey boxer briefs, which make me giggle, because they're so not him, but I guess they are him. I lie there and stare at him, and I think he's asleep, but he opens his eyes and speaks.

"I'm so in love with you."

"You're not here to nap."

"No," he admits. "Take off your dress."

He stares at me as I take it off. I'm kneeling on the bed beside him now, and I'm shaking. I'm excited. I'm scared. Nervous. It's been years. He left his life to be with me. What if it's not the same? What if it's not magic? What if we're lying here in ten minutes utterly disgusted and cold and empty? What if I love it? What if it's everything to me and nothing to him? What if he's looking at me right now and realizing that I'm not the girl he loved, that I'm an average-looking woman who looks better with her clothes on than off? But no. He's looking at me like I'm worth seeing. Worth staring at. And when his hand is on my stomach, reaching out to play with the little jeweled hoop hanging from my belly button, his smile is big. His mouth is warm. I fall back onto the bed and he's all over me. He's playing, and laughing, and loving, and I've never seen him like this. I feel so young, and I know I am young, but I feel young-young, like a kid, and I keep giggling as he bites, and licks, and kisses my belly, and shoulders, and neck.

It's chilly, so he holds me close, and his breath is warm, and his mouth is soft. He finally kisses my mouth. I almost tear his t-shirt, I'm grabbing onto it so tight. I'm shaking in his arms. I want to die here. Like this. Kissing him. I can't stop. Hundreds of kisses on my face, on his face. He's so sweet. So, so sweet. He's all love and smiles and really hot boy. Except he's not a boy. But he is. He's my boy. He's always been. And his fingers are quicker now. My bra comes off. I push my chest in his face, my nipple into his mouth. I swear I just said 'finally' out loud, but maybe I didn't, because he's not laughing at me, or teasing me. His hand is on my stomach, and I move it up. He looks up at me, kissing and sucking and breathing against my skin.

"Is she jealous?" he asks, and I nod. It's so delicious, the way he pinches, and touches, and stares. He stares, like he's never seen breasts before, like he's never had one in his hand before. He stares until I'm blushing, and his mouth is gone, his mouth is everywhere, all over my chest. Hundreds of kisses. His cheek rests against me. His eyes are closed. It tickles. I run my hand through his hair. If I close my eyes, we're kids again, and it's sweet, and I ache for every minute we weren't lying like this together. And when I open my eyes, he's here, and none of it matters.

"Is this real?" he asks, looking up at me.

"Yeah."

He kisses a nipple and his eyes close again.

"Are we going to...?" I blurt out.

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah."

And the kisses are back. And his teeth are on me. If I even had a brain, it's left me by now. Crumpled, gone, I'll never be able to use it again. I want to breathe, take real breaths, deep ones, but I can't... I can't. I'm a mess under him.

"Jesus, your heart." His mouth is over my skin over my heart, like he's kissing it to slow it down, to make it better, but it only makes it go crazier.

"I'm so nervous," I whisper.

"Why?"

I shrug. "Too many years... I don't know."

He laughs, and I want to hit him. "I came all the way from New York. You should let me have sex with you."

"Your jokes are lame."

"I've never been this serious about anything."

"Right now?" I ask. What is wrong with me? I want this more than I want anything... _anything. _But, I don't know—I feel like I'm going to throw up. I've never been this nervous. He's so stupid. Why did he have to say anything about my heart? He should have kept going. I'm easy. We would have been fucking by now. But we're not, and I just want him to hug me, and maybe kiss me, and I'm such a loser.

"Yes." He's on top of me, looking really serious, and he means it. This is going to happen right now. And I wait for him to take off his shirt, or unbutton his pants, or something, but instead he laughs.

"Jesus, Bella, I'm kidding. Come here."

"Wait, we're not having sex?" I ask. I'm suddenly calm again, and my legs fall open, because... that's what they're supposed to do under him.

He's lying on top of me, almost crushing me, and I hold him there with my thighs, my arms, all my strength. He bites my neck, then my earlobe, and then kisses, kisses, kisses me everywhere but on my mouth.

"We're definitely having sex," he tells me, rolling onto his back. "Just not now." I go with him, and his arms and so strong. Really strong for a pretty skinny guy. Except he's not so skinny anymore. Yeah he is. Skinny-strong.

"Ow."

"You asked me to hold you tight. Get used to it."

And we kiss. And kiss. It feels so good. And we kiss, and hug, and close our eyes a lot. Take seconds here and there to calm down, kiss again, move and touch and kiss and kiss.

My body in his hands… I can't begin to describe what it's like. It's like he loves it and wants it more than anything else. It's like he's so happy to have me this close to him right now. He touches me like I touch him… excited, eager, greedy, sometimes a little selfish, but then it's not selfish at all, because everything we do feels good. And the best, best part is that he won't stop kissing me, and I love that. I love that I finally want someone to kiss me for hours. I'm not doing it because it's what people do when they're hooking up, I'm doing it because I have to, and want to, and his mouth is the best. I remember kissing this boy, the thrill of it, the ache it made me feel deep inside, and on my skin, and everywhere. I remember the beginning. I remember how his tongue would make me want to cry because I was so, so happy. And it's like that now. And I'm nervous, because what if it's not like that for him? I want to ask him. I want to freak him out, and make him uncomfortable, and see if he'll disappear. And I will—just not now. Now I'll just do this. And now he's doing things to our clothes. And now we're both so naked.

"Fuck me," I tell him.

"Yeah?"

He's in my hand, and he's so warm and soft and hard and good. I show him how badly I want him right now. Over and over, it feels so good. He looks down and he loves it. He's such a boy, and such a perv, and I look too, and it's so incredibly hot, watching him slide over me. God he's beautiful. And I can't see anymore, because he's kissing me, and we're done playing, and yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, I love this. Finally. Everything is… it just is. It's everything that wasn't for years and years without him. It's new, and old, and good, and better, and I'm a part of something. I've never been a part of something. And this boy, this man, he's talking to me. He likes it when I scratch him. He loves me. He says I feel so good. He loves me so much. He says filthy words he never said when we were kids. I love them. I love him. He's soft and rough and I'm so, so loud.

His face against mine. The stubble. His body. I can't. I can't think anymore. The way he's moving. How he's kissing me. The thrill. The thrill. Oh my God.

"I love you," I manage to say. And I do. I don't just love the orgasm he gave me. I love that too, but God, do I love him. I'm shaking. My heart is beating so fast. I'm shaking. I'm laughing. I'm kissing him. I'm so fucking giddy that it's embarrassing. I've lost my mind. And it's awesome. He kisses my neck and won't get off me, but I don't care. He can continue to crush me. He made my day, my week, my year, my life.

"Fuck," he breathes.

I giggle. "Right?"

"Marry me."

**You guys are so awesome—in reviews, on Twitter, when I bug you on Gchat… everywhere. Thank you so much for reading this. **

**I wanted to mention a few awesome stories I love.**

**I'm reading "We Come to Life Beneath the Stars" by Lillybellis and "My Manic and I" by the. littlest. ingenue. Both stories are amazing WIPs. And if you're looking for something wonderful that's also complete, I thought "That Pain to Miss" by HelenahJay was so, so, so good. **

**Anyway, yeah, I got a little carried away here. I think Edward did, too. Don't freak out or anything. Writing this chapter drove me a little crazy, so I'd love to hear what you guys thought. Are you still mad at him? Madder? What words do you think the next chapter is going to start with? Oh God. I can't wait to see your suggestions.**

**I'll be back next week.**

**xo**


	27. I'll believe anything you tell me

**You guys are the best. Thank you so much for reading, reviewing, everything.**

**Ciaobella27 and WriteOnTime are awesome. **

**I don't own Twilight.**

I hug him as tightly as I can possibly hug him and hope he doesn't move off of me, or go anywhere, or do anything but me.

"Did Demetri tell you to ask me that?"

His face is in my neck, and he shakes his head, and I make him look at me, and he's so pink.

"I'm so flattered," I continue. "You like this so much that you had to blurt that out. Tell me you like this that much."

"Yeah."

He's so heavy. It's nice, and I want his heavy on me always, but I need to breathe, so I bring my fingers to his chest to give him a small push. But the hair there is too fun not to play with, and my fingers love it so much, and I play until he's kissing them and kissing my knuckles and then I'm kissing his face. I push him now, and he's on his back, and I sit on top of him, staring at his hands on me. He pinches and caresses and pokes, and I feel like a science experiment, so I grab his hands to stop him. But he's stronger, so now my wrists are being held, and I'm being pulled down, and he's kissing me, then ignoring my mouth, and kissing my neck, then ignoring that too, and we're back to my breasts, and God, his tongue and teeth and lips are so, so nice. His hands are on my stomach and down my sides. It tickles, and he laughs. I want him to keep going, keep sucking and tasting and licking. I also want him to fuck me again, so I move and move and touch and move.

"You want to do it like this now?" he asks.

"Oh, so you're speaking to me again."

He laughs. "Shhhhh." He looks so happy. And bashful. And hot. And now... now his eyes are telling me 'be careful, little girl, don't play with fire', but I want to, so badly. And I want this to be so good for him, I want him to close his eyes when he's bored, or alone, or even around lots and lots of people, and think of me like this. Tomorrow, next month, ten years from now, I want him to have this memory, because the sun is shining through my window, and it's all over my skin, and I'm on top of him, and he looks so hypnotized, so good under me, and I scratch down his forearms which I love, love, love, and my hands are on his hands, on my hips.

This is all I've wanted. This, and his love, and his presence in my life, and his hands and face and heart and smile. He feels nice, and he's so hot, and so pretty, and it hurts a little in the best way, and then it just feels better and better and better, until I'm curled up in his arms, rubbing my nose against his chest and smelling him and trying not to fall asleep. Because I want to be awake for every second we get to spend together.

XxXxX

He doesn't leave the bed when his phone rings in the morning, even though I'm still asleep. I hear his voice—first whispers, then louder, then whispers again, and when it's quiet, I reach out to find him and pull him to me.

"You're so rude," I whine, refusing to open my eyes yet.

"Sorry, I'm lazy. It's warm here."

"Who was that?"

"Rose."

"Why is she calling you? It's so early."

"She wanted to know where I was," he explains. "Long story. I want to go back to sleep."

I like stories. I force myself to open my eyes, and squinting, I look at him. "No, no sleep. Tell me what happened."

"My parents wanted to know where I was. They called Rose, who called Chelsea. I'm actually surprised that Chelsea didn't call Rose immediately after I left."

"Yeah..." He looks agitated, pissy. Normally, I'd be curious and want to know exactly what happened, all the conversations in great detail, but none of it matters. And I know he hates to retell conversations. And I know he still feels bad about Chelsea. And I know how he feels about his parents. So I'll be good and let him talk, if he wants to. Please, please talk, Edward.

"Apparently... apparently, she's a mess. Rose couldn't get her to talk, and... shit. What was I supposed to do? Stay until she...? She'd never let go."

I hug him tight, so tight, and it's okay that he isn't hugging me back. He's feeling shitty and maybe wondering why he's here, but he's sad, and feeling bad, so I don't know what else to do.

I want to ask him things. Does he regret coming here? Does he want to go back to take care of her? Does he miss her? Is he just feeling guilty? I really want to ask, and I'm trying very hard not to whine and be stupid and needy.

"Hey."

I look up and smile, just a little surprised. "Yeah?"

"Don't worry about any of this."

I nod, even though I know I should be worried. I _am_ worried.

"I'm so hungry..." he starts.

"Wait, no, I'm worried. What did you tell Rose?" I blurt out. "What are you going to do? Are you going to talk to Chelsea to make sure she's okay? Do you want to go back? Is Rose mad at me? Is she pissed? What—"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Bella. Not now."

"You came here. You came, and this is my bed. If you don't want to talk, then—"

"Fine, what do you want to know?" he asks.

"Is Rose upset?"

"Yeah... yeah."

"Like, is she mad at me?"

"I don't think so," he answers.

"Do you regret coming here?"

"Absolutely not."

"Are you going back?"

"No."

"Fine, let's go get breakfast," I tell him. He laughs, and it's quiet and soft, and his heart's not in it, but it's a laugh. He pulls on my arm and brings me closer and bites my jaw. I protest, and it makes him laugh some more and lick up the side of my neck.

"You taste like..."

"Sweat, right?"

"Sex. And pretty girl. And please don't get up."

"Are you sad?" I ask him. "Don't be sad."

"I'm not sad. Now come here."

There's kissing, and touching, and giggles, and some serious stuff that makes my heart beat faster and faster and faster, and we get up and make our way to the kitchen because our stomachs are loud, and it sounds gross.

"Rose told me to bring my things over and stay with her."

I pretend it takes forever to finish chewing on this granola bar.

"But um, is it okay for me stay here just a little longer?"

I nod a lot and want to run to my room and unpack his things and put them in my closet and tell him he can stay until the lease it up, and if he wants to stay after that, I'll stay with him. Should I be worried? Should I be freaking out? He's living here, and he just broke up with his girlfriend, and we don't know what we are. He proposes post-orgasm and then is too embarrassed to take it back or ask again, and his cousin probably hates us, and what if his guilt makes him go back? And if he leaves I'll want to die.

Edward asks me if I want to have lunch with him and Rosalie, but I tell him to go ahead, I have to get ready for class. I'm pretty sure they have a lot to talk about. I'm pretty sure Rosalie has a lot of things she wants to say that she won't say in front of me. So he goes off to lunch and I shower, catch up on my reading, and call my parents. I don't tell them about Edward. What am I supposed to say right now? I'll tell them soon, I guess. It's strange, but I really want to tell my dad. I really want to tell him, and I want to see what he says. It's strange because I tend to keep these things to myself until they become very serious, and even then, I hate introducing my parents to boyfriends. But this... this is different. So, so different. And I'm so happy and excited and terrified and in love. And mostly, I'm content. It's so weird. I've never felt this before.

Content.

Calm.

I attend all my classes today. It's like I'm proving to myself that Edward isn't everything—I have to go to class, I have to go to work tomorrow, I have to go to work Saturday morning. I can't ignore my obligations or put things off because he's waiting for me on the couch, or in bed, or at a coffee shop on campus. But the thing is, I'm a slacker, and I rarely go to class, so I spend the day sitting in lecture halls, staring at classmates I don't know, wondering what they have waiting for them at home. At one point, I almost cry, and they're the happiest tears. I'm about to cry like I cry when I see something really, really pretty, and it's so embarrassing. So I don't let myself cry, and instead I smile a lot, and my face hurts a little.

Back at the apartment, I find Edward sitting on the couch with his laptop open in front of him on the coffee table. He's not smiling. He looks stressed, and his frown makes him look older than he is. Shit. I'm such an asshole. I'm happy and my face hurts from too many smiles, and he's dealing with real things. He hurt someone and has to live with that. And I want to feel bad, but I can't. I don't feel bad. I don't feel guilty. I really want him to get over it. I want him to forget it all. I want him to let it go and focus on me. I don't care that this would make him a bad person. He can be selfish and bad with me.

"Hey," I call out to him from the hallway.

"Hey."

"How was lunch?"

"Good. Man, her friends are—"

"Lame, I know. Dude, I can't even pretend to be awake around them."

I hear his laugh and don't bother to place my coat on a hanger; I just throw it on a chair. I walk over to the couch quickly, and my arms go around his waist and I kiss his shoulder.

"So you guys weren't alone?" I ask.

"We were at first, but her friends saw us and came over to our table."

"Oh, sucks."

"Not really. I was able to escape faster that way."

"Was she annoying?"

"Yeah." He nods.

"What was she saying?"

"I'm a dick, this is crazy, we need some time, I should move in with her, I need to go to med school in the fall, you..."

"Yeah?"

"You need to figure out your life," he says quietly.

"That's none of her business."

"It's not," he agrees.

"Do you think I need to figure out my life?"

"I don't know. You're still in school. Why stress?"

I nod, but then I'm shaking my head. "I have to stress. I don't know... Like, Rose is younger than me and she's halfway through her first year of grad school. She knows what she wants. I..."

"Rose doesn't know shit. You think everyone in grad school knows what they want?"

"Why else are they there?" I ask.

"Because what else are they supposed to do? They're too scared to figure out what they want."

"Yeah, okay, but then they'll all have jobs, and I'm sitting around in Forks with my parents, with nothing to do."

"That's never going to happen," Edward tells me.

"Sure it's not."

"We're not moving to Forks, Bella."

"I thought you liked it there," I whisper as I kiss his fingers.

And he's so, so dirty. And he has a one-track mind, because his hand is lightly pressing between my legs, and his mouth is on my neck when tells me he likes it _here_.

XxXxX

Edward is standing in front of me, dressed and clean and ready, and I guess I didn't hear him come in.

"You're always daydreaming."

I shrug.

"Hey, are you upset?" he asks.

"No... I'm fine." I hate it when people call me out on it.

"It's cute... I like watching you when you're... Hey, don't be a baby. Look at me."

So I look at him. Why was I upset?

"Sorry," I mumble.

"What were you thinking about?"

You. I had a dream last night about us. The first new one in months. We were in Forks, and I couldn't see myself—just you, talking to me. It was cold and the rain was crazy. We were in front of my parents' house. My hair was a little longer. You kept smiling. Were we happy? Were we sad? I don't know, but from the moment I woke up this morning, I've been feeling weird and aching for something... I don't know. Like I want to go back into that dream and be there instead of here. And that's stupid, because you're here with me right now.

"Oh, nothing. Are you ready?" I ask him.

"Yeah, let's go."

We're meeting Jane and Jasper for dinner tonight. I'm nervous, excited, and a little annoyed. She made reservations at a Japanese restaurant. I don't eat sushi anymore. She loves it. When she called yesterday to confirm that we're hanging out, I told her Edward is here, and she immediately asked me if I think I'm doing the right thing. Shouldn't he try to be single for a while? Isn't he jumping into another relationship too quickly? Have I figured out what I want to do after graduation? What is he doing in Seattle? I told her I had to go, but we'd talk at dinner, because I didn't need another argument with her. I just want to see Jasper. It's been too long.

The restaurant Jane chose is in my neighborhood, so Edward and I decide to walk over. It's pretty cold, but it's nice to be outside. I've been spending too much time indoors.

"How was work this morning?"

"Sucky."

"You really have to wear those tights to work?" he asks with a smirk.

"Dude, yeah, you have to dress like that. Whatever."

"Do you really need a second job?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Even if we split the rent?"

"Huh?" I look up at him as I'm lighting a cigarette, and try not to blow a lot of smoke in his face. He hates that.

"Forget it."

"No, wait. Split rent?" I ask.

"If... if I'm staying with you..."

"Like, permanently?"

"For as long as I'm here, yeah." I hate it when you say that. I hate you.

"And if you leave next month, then I'll have to look for another job to cover my expenses again."

"I'm not..."

"I don't want to have this conversation right now," I tell him. "Because then I'd have to ask you about your plans, and if those involve things I'm not going to be a part of, I don't want to know yet."

"I'm applying to some jobs here in Seattle for the time being... and weren't you saying you wanted to move to New York?"

"Yeah, but..."

"Like I said, forget it. I was just trying to help. Those tights looked uncomfortable."

I hug his arm and rest my head against it. "I love those tights. If I'm quitting anything, it'll be my other job. I hate that place."

"Yeah? Could you afford to do that?" he asks me.

"I'd have to wear the tights more often."

"They look uncomfortable, but your ass looks great in them."

"I'm glad you think so, roomie."

"I ask you to marry me half a dozen times and you call me 'roomie'."

"Lies. You asked me once, then you couldn't even look me in the eye afterwards."

And he avoids eye contact again.

"Loser," I tease.

"I can't help it. It's like a nightmare. I keep blurting it out or stopping myself from asking. Fucking embarrassing."

"It's because I'm so good at sex. You can't help yourself. You want to own this," I say, pointing to myself.

He stops walking, and I stop too, hopping around because it's cold and we should be moving. He pulls the hat I'm wearing down over my eyes and then snatches it off. I jump up trying to grab it from his hand.

"You're good at everything. I'll never say it again, because it's usually not true, and it's always about sex, but _this_? This isn't about sex," he tells me.

And we're walking again. I swear, I'm skipping. My heart is flying and I grab his hand and make him twirl me around once, twice, in the middle of the street. We're in front of the restaurant and someone is clapping. It's Jasper, and he's so, so happy for us. I know it. His smile is big, just like his heart.

"Jasper! Oh my God! Hug!"

After he lets me go, I turn to Jane, and she's Jane. I've missed her so much. I throw my arms around her and freeze for a second when I realize that her arms aren't around me, but I squeeze once anyway, and then move back next to Edward. I can't look her in the eye right now.

Everyone is pretty friendly, and I'm dying to find out about how and when Jane and Jasper made up after their epic fight. I'm glad they did. What a stupid fight. Jane had no objections to his relationship with Siobhan for over three years. She bought Siobhan's kids presents and watched them all the time. She was even good friends with Siobhan. Everything was fine until he proposed. And then, Jane decided there was something wrong with the relationship. She was almost a decade older than Jasper, and Jasper was being an idiot. No matter what I said, Jane wouldn't listen to me. She was right, Jasper and I were wrong. She sided with her mother—not surprising. I really want to know what happened that made her change her mind, but I can't ask right now. I know Edward wants to know, too. I was telling him about all the drama last night, and he likes to gossip. It's awesome.

"Jasper, where's Siobhan?" I finally ask.

"She couldn't make it. It's a pain traveling with all the kids."

"Yeah, I can imagine. Do you like Chicago?"

"Yeah, we love it. The kids are doing great. She's happy."

Edward's leg touches mine. We were laughing last night while stalking Jasper on Facebook. He's like a dad, but not really. He's all baseball practice, and ballet classes, and after-school activities with these kids. And he's our age. So weird. I try not to giggle, but lightly step on his foot under the table.

"I was thinking about moving back to Chicago for school before I decided to come to Seattle," Edward announces.

"Yeah?" I ask.

"Yeah, there's a public health program I was interested in at Northwestern."

Jane raises an eyebrow and looks at Edward. "Did you apply?"

"No."

"So you decided against medical school, then?" Jasper wants to know.

"It's not for me," Edward replies.

"You're interested in public health, but not medicine? Can't you combine the two?"

I look at Jasper and think about this a little. Yeah, why can't Edward go to medical school and then specialize in public health? Is that possible? I don't know, I should do some research, or maybe just ask him.

"I can get a masters in public health," Edward explains.

"You could help a lot of people if you're a doctor _and_—" but Jane cuts me off.

"Oh! Perfect! You and Bella can help people together!" She laughs.

"Oh, brother," I mutter.

"Jane..." Jasper warns.

"What? Edward, Bella's always pointing at the TV saying 'I want to help people' or 'aw, look, poor people are so sad, I want to do stuff for them' or 'aw, I want to spend time in Africa like Rosalie, and help people'—this will be perfect, Bella. You'll be a team! 'Edward and Bella Help People'. Maybe you can get your own reality show."

I love him so much. He continues to drink his beer and listen to her, politely, then he turns to Jasper and pretty much ignores her. I'm pretty sure she's annoyed. I poke Edward's thigh under the table and he grabs my finger and holds it.

It's like I didn't grow up with her. Like I didn't live with her for years. Like I don't know her. Even her eyes are different; everything is different. For over twenty years I've been sitting across from Jane during dinner, and I've always gravitated towards her. Moving closer to tell her a secret, make fun of something, share a joke. Even on double dates, I always wanted more Jane, ignoring her date and my date—no one felt more comfortable, no one made me laugh as hard, no one was like her in any way. But tonight, Edward's not-so-soft shirt is pressed against my cheek, and his hand is in mine, and I try to talk to her, but there's nothing to say. And when she rolls her eyes at us for the first, second, and even third time, I ignore it, because I want to be her friend again, and I think I can be, but I think that's all it will ever be. We'll be friends. We'll hang out once in a while when her brother is in town, or maybe when we're back in Forks. We'll email, I'm sure, call each other on our birthdays, but I've lost her. And part of me looks at Edward and wonders if he's what caused all this, and if it's worth losing a soul mate, a sister, over, and that part of me wants to cry. But I don't cry, because sometimes you just let things go, and as much as I want her and Edward both in my life, she asked me to choose. I never thought I'd have to choose. One had nothing to do with the other. My best friend and lover... they were different, separate, and we could all coexist. But it was never really my choice—it was hers.

I'm pretty quiet for the rest of the evening, and when we're saying our goodbyes, Jane approaches me to give me a hug. I pat her on the back and we part. I know this isn't goodbye, because that happened months ago, but it feels so final. Edward lights a cigarette and hands it to me, then he holds me as I smoke it on a corner in the dark. I'm not sad anymore. I know I keep repeating this, but sometimes you have to let go of people, fantasies, plans you've made. And sometimes people let you go before you realized that letting go was even an option, or a possibility. You're left alone, left behind, but instead of being sad you just shrug, because you don't have it in you to hold a grudge.

I'm not sad. I just feel empty. I don't want to do anything, or go anywhere. Edward holds my hand as we walk back to my apartment, and then he puts an arm around my shoulder. Once we're inside, he helps me take off my coat, and hugs me tight. I smile at him because I don't want to be an asshole. I smile because as much as I'd normally want to be alone when I'm feeling like this, I really don't want that right now. He's here, and he gets it. He doesn't talk and ask what's wrong. He doesn't start random conversations when it's quiet. He doesn't wave his hand in my face when I start thinking or daydreaming. He just sits, and does his thing, and reminds me that he's here with a small kiss as he's walking by, or a beer when he feels like having one too. And I think maybe I'd like to have him around even if he does all the annoying things other boyfriends have done. I'd deal, I'd stop being selfish, I'd maybe change a few things for him. And I think he'd change a few things for me, if I asked, but I don't know if I ever will. I don't want different. I want him.

I sit on the couch, and he sits next to me. I see how he eyes the book he left on the coffee table earlier, but he doesn't pick it up. He simply sits, and his hands rub up and down his thighs, his knees bouncing, like he's nervous, or bored, or like he really has to pee.

"What's that you're reading?" I ask him.

"Just something I picked up at the airport."

"Is it any good?"

"Yeah, it's alright."

I want to tell him that he can read it. He doesn't need to feel bad and sit here like he's punished just because I want to stare off into space and be miserable. But I don't say anything, because how annoying would it be to have me tell him what to do?

And honestly, I don't want to stare off into space and be miserable now, so I crawl over to him and sit in his lap.

"I'm not sad," I tell him.

"No?" He plays with my hair until I shake his hand away.

"I'd be sad if you weren't here."

"I'd be sad, too."

"What if she's right, and Rosalie's right? You just broke up with someone, and we're both at places in our lives where we don't know what we're doing—"

"Rosalie doesn't know what she's doing. And Jane may know what she's doing, but she's pretty miserable. Are you miserable?" he asks. I shake my head to tell him 'no' and his arms are around me, and it fits. Everything fits. "Because you don't look miserable. I've been thinking about your face for months, but it was never as happy as it's been these past few days, because I don't think I knew it could be... Your smiles are so big. It makes me feel really good. We'll figure everything else out."

"And you're happy. Your smiles are big, too."

"Yeah." And his big, big smile makes me dizzy and warm.

"I'm sleepy," I whisper. "And maybe just a little sad."

"I thought we just established that you were happy."

"Yeah, but also sad, because she's... it's never going to be like before."

"You don't know that... but probably not," he agrees.

"It sucks. I love her."

He sighs. "I know. I want to fix things between you guys, but she hates me. I mean, I get it, but I think it's a little irrational. I haven't done anything…"

"No, fuck that. There's nothing to fix. Like Rose said, sometimes things don't work out."

"When did Rose say that?"

"When she found out that I'd been talking to you, and... yeah, she said sometimes you have to let go."

"That's true."

"But you didn't let go," I point out.

"I did let go. I just didn't let go of you."

His eyes close, and I can tell he's tired and over this conversation. So am I. I get up to grab a magazine and return to his lap. He reaches out for his book and opens it. We read, and make out, and watch the news, and at around midnight I start to yawn a lot and beg him to carry me to bed. He drags me instead, and I complain about having to brush my teeth.

"Then don't brush your teeth," he tells me.

"I'll be gross, and you won't kiss me, and you won't have sex with me."

"You'd be up for sex right now?" he asks, his eyes bigger than they've been all night.

"Yeah, I mean... yeah."

Edward laughs and drops down onto the bed next to me. "Don't act _too_ excited."

"I like to do things I'm good at, and I think I'm good at that... according to you, at least."

I watch him remove his contacts and search for his glasses. "You're the best. Trust."

He's such a liar. He's the best. He's the best at everything. He listens the best. He tells the best stories. He touches the best. And he fucks the best. And when we're both super sleepy and he's rubbing his eyes, I reach out and take off his glasses, placing them on the shelf right above my head. It's so small in here, no room for bedside tables. I don't think he cares. I stare at him and watch him sleep, but he's not sleeping yet. He's lying here, thinking, and I love the silence, and I love the sound of the rain outside hitting the pavement. I don't love it when it gets stronger and hits the window. But when that happens he moves around, upset, and ends up closer to me, so I guess the rain can do what it likes. I think about us, about school, about the jobs we don't have. I wonder how long this will last, whether or not he'll end up staying with Rosalie. I wonder if he'll blurt out things like 'marry me' again and again. I wonder if he means it each time he asks. I think about the baby we saw outside our building yesterday, and if I'm going to get to have his babies soon. The thought makes my heart beat fast and move just a tiny bit closer to him. I wonder when it became 'our' building. I have so many questions and I still don't want to sleep, because he's not asleep, so why would I sleep?

"Bella?" My heart explodes and everything tingles.

"Yeah?"

"Why aren't you sleeping?" he asks.

"I'm thinking."

"Yeah..." Then a few seconds later, "me too."

"About what?" I ask.

"Stuff."

"Yeah."

"What is it about me… why…?"

I hug him with two arms and a leg, and kiss his shoulder a lot. "If I asked you to, would you be able to suspend disbelief for a few minutes?"

"Uh, I guess, sure."

This is so, so, so stupid, but if he doesn't tell me to go away and seek treatment right now, I'll never have anything to worry about, ever. My head is spinning and my mouth is dry. My heart is beating fast and loud and hard. I let my tongue touch his throat one more time, just in case I never get to do it again.

"Edward, um, what if I told you I've been dreaming of you for years? Wait—I'm not done. And like, I saw you in my dreams before I met you…"

I can't even look him in the eye. My face is hot and I rub it against the cool pillow. His hands are in my hair, and his lips are on my cheek.

"I don't care," he tells me.

"Oh."

He moves his mouth until it's right by my ear. Everything is alive. I feel and feel. His breath is hot and his words… "I love you. I'll believe anything you tell me."

He thinks I'm crazy. Whatever. He's here. He's here. He's here. And he's really into me. And me… I'm still beyond desperate for him. It's all good. Everything is good.

"Hey," I whisper when I miss his voice.

"Hmmm?"

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

"Yours."

I tell him 'me too', and clap my hands as I congratulate him, because he's achieved everything he'd set out to achieve. He laughs and tells me it's time to sleep, and I say 'okay' and close my eyes to dream of us. And they're the best dreams. And I get to tell him all about them when we wake up.

**So, I'll be updating for the last time next week, I think. I want to thank you all again for making this so much fun for me. It's been a blast. I'm sending out one final EPOV to those of you who are interested. **

**Let me know what you think? **

**xoxo**


	28. Now it's perfect

**This is the final chapter. You guys are awesome.**

**I don't own Twilight.**

Carlisle and Esme Cullen are nice. I keep repeating everything I know about them in my head to remind myself that they're not that nice, but it's not working. They're really very nice. They love their son a lot. You can just tell. Every time he scowls or snaps at them, his mother's eyes get big and sad. Her heart breaks. I know that look. I see it in my mother's eyes all the time.

Dinner is uncomfortable because Edward clearly does not see what I see. He thinks that they're judging him, telling him what to do, saying 'I told you so' with every word that comes from their mouths. I just see two people who want their kid to be happy. And tonight is all about celebrations, but Edward looks like he's going to be sick.

"Mr. Cullen, Mrs. Cullen—" I start.

"Carlisle and Esme, dear," she corrects me with a hopeful smile. I smile back, because it's the polite thing to do, and because she has Edward's eyes.

"Carlisle and Esme... would you excuse me for a second?"

"Yeah, me too, I need a cigarette."

I turn to Edward and frown, but he ignores me. He leaves the table and walks out. I follow him.

"What the fuck? Why are we here if you're going to be a dick? They're being very nice."

"Bella, don't..."

"They're so excited. They're paying for your tuition, all your expenses. You're so—"

"Because I'm doing exactly what they wanted me to do, that's why."

"It's what you want to do," I remind him. "These past two months all I've heard is how you wanted to be a doctor, but your dad made you hate the profession. How you're interested in studying... I don't even know, these gross diseases, or going around the world and making sure people have the shit they need. You want to be a doctor. You just told them you're going to be a doctor. They're super excited. Let them be excited." I realize I'm shouting, so I lower my voice and make it soft. "And you know I love steak. Don't ruin that for me."

"I just... I hate that smug look he gave me when I said I was starting in the fall," he replies, lighting a cigarette. I snatch it from his hand and throw it to the ground. Oh boy, his nostrils do that scary thing. He's pissed. Good.

"There was no smug look!"

"You just don't see it." He's about to light another one, but looks at me and stops with a sigh. We're trying to smoke less. He has reached his limit for the day. "Go eat your steak, Bella."

"No." I shake my head. "Steak is meh if you're not happy."

"I'm happy."

"You keep scowling."

"I'll be happy back at the apartment. Let's go home."

"We have to finish dinner first. Listen, I don't want to be here either, but I want my steak, even if it's cold and gross now. And you. I want you. Please smile twice for me tonight? Just twice. Or maybe three times? Twice at your mom, once at your dad. For me?" I ask.

I rub my nose against his shoulder. He puts his hands on my hips and pulls me closer. I'm on the tips of my toes, my arms around his neck. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he lets it out it's warm against my cheek. Cigarettes and lots and lots of wine. "Yeah."

Dinner is still awkward, but Edward is nicer when we go back inside. I have a hard time finishing my steak because he won't let go of my hand under the table. I just eat the three small pieces I had cut before excusing myself, and pick at the potatoes until they take away our plates. I'm not annoyed. I could have let go at any time, but our hands together is my favorite thing. When we're outside waiting for cabs, I catch his mom staring at us. She smiles and I blush. Then I go back to watching our fingers. I don't care if she sees, or if she thinks I'm a stupid kid obsessed with her son and his fingers. I'm so in love. I repeat this in bed a thousand times and he's not sick of hearing it. In fact, there's nothing like the smile on his face when I tell him I'm in love with him, I love him, he's everything, love me, love, love, love. It's big and bright and innocent and I kiss it, and kiss it, and listen to his words back. I want to cry. It's that great.

XxXxX

Edward's new laptop is also my new laptop. When he's screaming at pundits, taking a nap on the couch, his head resting on my thighs, or when he's out, I take over and pretend it's mine. I love being a snoop. He watches porn on it when I'm at work, and it's fun to peek and see what he's into. He's so bored all the time, but apart from the three days a week he spends at the lab, he refuses to work. He wants to take advantage of his freedom before he starts medical school in, like, six months. But instead he sits here, and reads and watches porn. I call him out on it and he laughs. "It's just so boring without you," he whines. I suggest taking trips, visiting his family, friends, but he knows that I'm only lying when I say I think he should go. I don't want him to go anywhere that's not here. I will fake enthusiasm for any trips he decides to take because I know he's not actually going to take them. He likes this small apartment. He likes the tiny kitchen. He likes the bathroom we don't clean as often as we should. He loves our bed, even though he'd rather have sex everywhere else. He's lazy. The bedroom is always too far from the kitchen, or living room, or bathroom, or hallway. But then he's not lazy anymore, and he does everything right, and he does an excellent job.

So when Edward is out, I sit on his laptop and apply to things and check to see if anyone has gotten back to me about jobs. Usually, I stare at a lot of rejections and try to fight off the urge to feel sorry for myself and cry, cry, cry. I guess tonight is going to be one of those nights. I've been rejected from the one job I thought I had a chance of getting. It's not a huge deal. Despite Edward constantly nagging me about quitting my job at Royce's uncle's firm, I decided that quitting would be a bad idea. I'm done with school now, and they were able to increase my hours. I can live on what I make at the firm and the store, but I really want a real job. I'm going to hate my life once Edward is in school. He'll have friends and he will be busy all the time. This reminds me to reply to Jane's most recent email about her show. I'm staring at the screen, staring at my words, when I hear keys and noise and Edward taking off his shoes. He's talking on the phone. "Okay" "Fine" "Whatever" "Dad". Ugh.

"Bella?"

"I'm in the kitchen!"

I'll tell him about the job later. He's always in a bad mood after speaking with his parents. He's so stubborn. When his mom called asking me to convince him to fly to New York for their anniversary, I told her straight out, I'm never getting involved in any of this. She said I would have to, eventually, as a part of the family. She's wrong. No one is as important to me as Edward is, and while I want him to have a good relationship with his parents, I'm not going to start fights with him to make that happen. I told Edward about the party they wanted us to attend, and he shrugged. I mentioned it one more time the next day, and he gave me the look. No. Fine. His choice. His parents. I know that Chelsea would talk to his mom all the time and organize family brunches, which he hated. That's so not me. I'd never force him to do anything. And I don't think he wants to go back to New York. I know he had a miserable time when he was back home for Christmas. Chelsea tried to see him and his parents had invited her parents to something. Ugh. Idiots.

"My dad really wants us to go to their anniversary party," he announces, walking into the kitchen and throwing his keys onto the table. It's loud. I jump.

"Are you working on something?" he asks. "Sorry."

"No, just an email. What's up?"

He sits across the table from me and pouts. "Maybe we should just go. Get them off our backs."

"If that's what you want."

"Yeah... no."

I don't say it out loud, but I wonder if this is about Chelsea. It bothers me that he's still not ready to go back to New York and have a good time. Or maybe he just doesn't want to go with me.

"I don't have to go..."

"What? Why would I go without you?"

I shrug.

"I'm not going without you," he says.

"Fine. Let's just go. New York is fun..."

"Yeah, yeah it is."

I look at him and he half-smiles at me. I half-swoon and he sees, and he's a cocky asshole with a big grin and bad, bad eyes.

"Fine," he says.

"Awesome! Lemme look up flights."

"You wanted to go this entire time, huh?"

"I don't care about the party. I just want to go back to New York."

"We can go anytime you want."

"I bet you miss Demetri and your boys."

He nods. "Yeah."

"I love Demetri."

"He loves you, too."

"LA was fun with him and Maggie."

"Yeah," he agrees. "We should do that again."

He gets up and walks to the fridge, opens it, and I know he's going to complain about something in three... two...

"Did you eat all the cheese?"

"Yes?" I whisper.

"There's a small piece of brie... and I fucking hate brie."

"Fine. Let's go buy some cheese."

"I'm gonna have to eat the brie," he tells me.

"It's okay, I left that piece for you."

He rolls his eyes at me as he walks back to the table. Something about his face, the smile, his eyes. I know this moment. I've lived it. My heart is about to explode. I've seen this before. It's nothing, and it's stupid, and it's just a moment from a dream, but it's everything, and I'm excited and worried and anxious.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Another uh... déjà vu moment?" he asks with a grin. I hate these conversations. I hate how he teases me. I hate how I never have the courage to explain it to him.

"That's not what they are."

"I know..."

"You lie. You just pretend to believe me because you like me."

"That's mostly true," he admits. "Otherwise, I'd be very freaked out."

"Why?"

"If my girlfriend's psychic, how will I get to flirt with cute nurses when I'm an intern or resident, without getting caught?"

"Well, you're going to have to watch yourself, buddy. I know everything," I tease.

He laughs and I want to sit on him, and smell him, and move my lips against his neck, and throat, and shoulder.

"Tell me everything."

"Well," I start, getting up to walk over to him, "we're going to go to New York, and you're going to behave yourself, and be nice, and friendly, and kiss your mom on the cheek, and give her a huge hug. You're going to take me out for some delicious pizza, and I'm going to thank you by doing bad things in our hotel room after we both brush our teeth and wash our hands."

"Do we really have to brush our teeth?"

"Yes." I nod. I love playing this game. He loves listening to me as I tell stories about us that I completely make up on the spot. "That's what happens. I'm not saying I want to brush my teeth, but I will. I've seen it all."

"You lie."

"Don't you want to do bad things?"

He bites down on my shoulder, and his fingers are so tight on my waist that I cry out and tell him to stop.

"I always get to do bad things," he tells me.

"This will be so, so bad," I whisper into his ear. He laughs, and I give him a little slap on the cheek. "I want a cigarette." He hands me one.

"In all seriousness, Bella, what have you seen?"

"Really?" I raise an eyebrow and challenge him to repeat his question. Usually, he'll just tell me to forget about it. Maybe I don't want him to forget about it. I want him to know, but I don't want him to think I'm crazy. And I don't like being teased or made fun of.

"Uh, yeah."

"Do I have to?" I whine.

"Come on."

"Fine. Um... it's weird. It's like, I've seen a few minutes here, a few minutes there," I explain. "Just us. In an apartment. It's weird, because what I've seen is never exactly the same as what happens. Like, when I moved into this apartment, I didn't actually recognize it. But then the other night, when I told you about my lunch with Jane, and we were sitting on the couch... I knew... like that one moment, sitting on the couch with you, I'd seen it maybe hundreds of times. I always thought we looked so sad and just... bad. I think it's just that we're older. We wear our glasses around the apartment. We never get enough sleep, so sometimes our eyes are tired. And the other night, it all came together. You kissed me...my forehead. You told me you'd actually go to her show with me and I felt better, right? I smiled and I was lying on top of you..."

I give up on lighting the cigarette I'm holding in my hand, and place it on the table along with Edward's lighter. I move my face closer to his and kiss him once, and bite his upper lip, then kiss it in case it hurt. He rocks me back and forth and I sit, my cheek against his, my hands in his hair, and on his face, and then in his hair again.

"That's so... yeah."

"It's okay," I tell him. "It sounds crazy."

He laughs. "It does, but I believe you."

"No, you don't."

"Believe me, I don't want to believe you, but I see the way you react to certain things... I think I can tell when you've 'seen' something before."

"Am I that transparent?" I ask, making my eyes very big and looking into his.

"Yeah." His mouth is hot against my cheek.

"Okay. Well, let me tell you about tomorrow."

"Oh, please do."

"Tomorrow, we drive up to Forks, and you're the perfect boyfriend. You smile a lot, you open doors for me and my mom, you go fishing with my dad if he asks you to—but he probably won't because he knows you suck and he has more interesting people to go with. You sleep on the couch like a good boy, and when I come downstairs to fuck you, you stay super quiet, and you put your hand over my mouth...like this... and—you can let go now—and you make sure I don't scream, but you have to do everything that normally makes me scream, and it's gonna be really awesome, and you will remember how we had sex on the couch in high school, and how we fell while you were coming. Oh my God, I actually remember that. Do you?"

"Shit. Yeah. I do remember that."

I kiss his chest a lot when he laughs. I love the vibrations and how it sounds, and I love putting my cheek against him, and listening, and feeling, and just being with him.

"I just made that up, by the way."

"No, I like that too much," he tells me. "You totally saw that in a dream, and we're going to make it happen."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I love you."

"You're my favorite psychic."

"I'm not... ugh, stop making fun of me."

"I'd never do that," he says, chuckling against my shoulder.

"Lies, you're just here to mock me and tease me all day."

"No, I'm just here to make all your dreams come true."

God, he's beautiful. And sweet, and warm, and under me, and touching me, and his words are perfect, and his skin against my skin makes me burn and burn and fly and want more and more of him, just him.

"As long as they involve having sex on your parents' couch," he continues.

"You're gross. Pervert."

"You," kiss, "love," bite, "it."

So much. So I take my gross pervert and spend the night telling him stories, and he listens to every single one, and he loves me and loves me until he falls asleep. He snores and moves around too much, and keeps me up until I glance at the clock and see how late it is, and will myself to fall asleep.

He wakes me up with tickles, and bad breath, and scruffy cheeks against my chest. He asks me if he was in my dreams. I say 'always' and 'of course' and giggle and gasp because the scruff and fingers and teeth are too much. I don't tell him what I saw, what I've been seeing a lot lately. I don't tell him about older me, older him, and bright, colorful things scattered all over the floor of a bigger apartment or home we don't yet live in. Things he trips over and kicks away, but things that make him smile big, because they belong to his favorite people in the world.

He looks at me when my face gets hotter, and my smile gets stupider, and my heart beats faster. "Tell me" and "come on" and "don't be a tease". I'm lucky I can distract him with touches and a kiss, or two, or three, and then I drag him out of bed, and into the shower, then into the car, and we're off to visit my parents in Forks.

XxXxX

"He's so handsome! How can you stand it?"

"Mom, gross."

"He was a good-looking boy, but now... I'd never leave that apartment of yours either if—"

"Mom!"

"Is he being nice to you? Does he treat you well? Are you being safe?"

"You asked me those same questions two weeks ago in Seattle," I remind her.

"Well, are you?"

"Of course!"

"I'm going to have the most beautiful grandbabies! Look at that face."

"I'm going to throw up."

"Aw, Bella, babies are the best! You're—"

"No, babies are awesome. You perving on my boyfriend, not so awesome."

"Sweetie, allow your mother to live vicariously through you. I'm an old woman now, and—"

"Mom, you're forty-four. You're like, insanely young. Go find a young guy who's into older ladies. In fact, I'm pretty sure Edward has friends who'd be way into that."

"Friends who aren't Edward..." She sighs.

"Jesus—"

"Bella! You know I'm only kidding. I love your father. He's my Edward."

"Yeah, remember that," I tell her. "The minute you're running off with a twenty-three-year-old, we're done."

We're having steak tonight, because apparently both Edward and I look unhealthy and too skinny. I'm helping make the salad, staring out the window. I continue watching Edward and my dad inspect the car. Edward looks annoyed, frustrated. My dad has a smug grin on his face as he tells Edward "I told you so", because something is wrong with something, and it made driving here a pain in the ass.

"He's got a temper," my mother observes.

"Yeah."

"Is it bad?"

"Yeah. I mean, no worse than mine."

"That's pretty bad."

I shrug.

"Sometimes I try to make your father angry. I try to provoke him, but... you know your father. Always calm, always cool."

"Yeah. That's dad."

"Edward will calm down a bit. He's young."

"It's just who he is," I tell her. "I don't want him to change who he is."

"Oh, you will."

"Whatever."

"Leave that poor cucumber alone, you've slaughtered it. Go make sure there's enough cold beer in the refrigerator."

"I just checked, we're good."

My dad says something to Edward, who is laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world. Eyes closed, chin high, little boy face.

"So, have you been talking to Janey?" my mom asks.

"I had lunch with her last week."

"How did that go?"

"It was fine."

"I'm glad you two are finally speaking," she says.

"Yeah."

"I hear she has a show coming up."

I nod. "Yeah, in, like, two weeks."

"So..."

"Hmmm?"

"Are you going to the opening?"

"I think so."

"What about him?" she asks, looking out the window with me.

"He said he'd go."

"Good."

I don't see what the big deal is anymore. Jane and I are talking, so why ask about her all the time? I know my parents want us to be super close again, but this is as good as it's going to get. We have lunch sometimes, send some emails back and forth, she calls me once in a while. The two times she came over to hang out with Edward and me were uncomfortable and awkward. They just don't like each other. She thinks Edward is the male version of me. Which should mean he's awesome, because I'm awesome and Jane loves me, but I'm pretty sure Jane is talking about all of my negative qualities. It's fine. They don't have to love each other. As long as Edward is polite when she's around, and Jane doesn't talk shit about my boyfriend, we're cool. I miss her sometimes, but it's not like she's completely gone. And there's less pressure now. She doesn't constantly ask questions, judge all of my decisions, or try to make decisions for me. We're just friends. We laugh, we roll our eyes at each other, we see movies together that Edward refuses to see with me. It's comfortable and nice. I hope she feels the same way I do.

"I'll be right back."

I grab my jacket from where it's been hanging off the back of a chair and head outside, making sure I have a lighter in my pocket.

"Bella, not on my property."

"Really, dad?"

"I just told Edward the same thing."

"He did," Edward confirms.

"Fine, Edward, let's go far away and smoke a lot. While we're at it, where's all the cocaine we procured on our way over here? Oh, and the weed. The ecstasy. The hooker we picked up on the side of the road..."

"Bella..."

"Dad, chill. It's just a cigarette."

"I recall warning Edward here about the day my little girl comes home smelling like cigarettes."

"Your little girl picked up this habit in college," I remind him. "Leave Edward alone."

"It's okay, Bella," Edward says.

"See? It's all good. I just enjoy giving him a hard time." My dad smiles at Edward, who is going to be whining and moaning about my parents from the minute we get into the car to drive back to Seattle, until I have him back at the apartment, sitting on the couch, or lying on the bed.

"Daddy, we want to head back early tomorrow. We want to head over to the beach for a little bit after breakfast, so pancakes at eight?"

"Sounds good."

"Edward likes eggs. Scrambled."

"Bella, it's okay. Chief Swan, I—"

"Scrambled eggs it is."

"Anyway, dinner's almost ready." I turn to Edward, "Your hands are gross, dude, wash them."

He can't flip me off or say anything rude in front of my dad, so I wave him away with a sweet, evil smile.

"Be nice to the kid," my dad says after Edward has gone inside.

"I'm nice to him."

"He's a good man. You know, first time you two came to visit last month, he came to me and started talking nonsense, explaining why he's staying with you in Seattle. He apologized and…" my dad starts chuckling softly. "He said he only had the best intentions. Couldn't stop laughing after he left."

"Nice, dad."

"This is everything you've wanted."

"Yeah."

"Remember, there's more to life."

"Dad, I know."

"As long as you keep that in mind, and you're happy, that's all that matters," he tells me.

I nod.

"And you're happy?" he asks.

"The happiest."

"Alright, then. Let's go back inside, I'm hungry."

I love my dad. Sometimes, I want to be a kid again, because my best memories are of us, hanging out, playing, reading, having the most ridiculous conversations before bedtime. He taught me everything worth knowing. He held me when I cried and cried, and he never once made me feel bad when I ignored him, ignored my mom, didn't call or come home for months. And he's the one who told me to always have hope, as awful as hope can be sometimes, he told me to wait, be patient, be positive. He always told me my dreams would come true. And I want to thank him right now, I want to tell him they're all coming true, and there are more dreams, and I know those will come true too, but I don't know... I can't tell him that. He gets all weird when I get all weird. So I just smile and lightly punch him in the arm.

Dinner is nice. We meet up with Emmett and have a few drinks afterwards, and then quietly sneak into the house because my parents are already asleep. I go up the stairs and get ready for bed. I try to sleep, but I can't, so I get up and try not to run downstairs, because that would wake everyone up. I move quietly, and there's Edward, on the couch, eyes closed, always the first to fall asleep. Who cares? He can sleep later. I climb on top of him and lie down, waking him up in the process.

"I wasn't sleeping."

"Uh huh. Sure."

"Take off your t-shirt."

"That's probably a bad idea," I whisper. "It's all I'm wearing."

"Fine."

I move and move and touch and kiss. My hand goes under the blanket, and under his shorts, and I touch him and make him make sounds that I have to stop with my other hand over his mouth. Then I'm under the blanket, I kiss it once, he pulls me up and I know he wants it now.

"Don't let me scream," I tell him.

He laughs and his fingers do things that make my eyes open big, and then close, and now who's the one making those stupid noises? I want it, too. His hands are on my hips, and this is my favorite part of everything—until I'm coming and then that's my favorite—and shit, he feels so good against me, almost in me, almost...

"Fuck."

"I swear to God, he's the devil."

"We can be really quiet," Edward says.

"He's up and walking around. No."

"Ugh."

"Relax, he'll go back to sleep soon."

"He won't come downstairs, come on."

"Fine, whatever."

No one comes downstairs; Edward's so smart. We have sex and fall asleep, and when the sun comes out I bury my face in his shirt and refuse to wake up. This works until someone is in the kitchen, making way too much noise, and I want to be like, "dad, don't worry, we know you're down here, no one's going to do anything gross while you're a few feet away, just give us some peace and quiet." I get up and draw the blinds because it's too bright in here, and Edward can sleep for a few more minutes while I shower and pack our things, as well as some of my things that I'd left behind when I left Forks. When I'm back downstairs, I find Edward on the couch, half-awake and thirsty.

"Why didn't you go grab something to drink from the kitchen?"

"Your dad's in there."

"So?"

"So... I don't know."

"Are you feeling guilty about defiling his couch last night?"

"And his kid."

"Yeah, well."

"Come with me," he says.

"Duh."

We eat breakfast, and hug, and kiss, and Edward wants to drive, so I let him. He doesn't know what he's doing as he's pulling out of the driveway, so he drives over some of my mom's flowers. My dad is shaking his head and I wave goodbye, blushing and shaking my head too, just a little embarrassed for Edward.

"You killed the flowers."

"Whatever. You drive next time."

"Dude!" I exclaim. "You totally said that to me once and I knew I'd seen it before, and I guess this is what I'd seen."

"Not now, Bella."

So grouchy.

"You look so hot when you're driving," I tell him.

"Sure."

"No, really. Like, your fingers on the wheel, and your face is like super serious and really, really hot."

I know he likes hearing it, but he's still annoyed, and I bet he saw me looking embarrassed as we drove off. So I take his hand and hold it, and kiss it, until he looks more relaxed, and I whisper the directions to the beach, and I'm soft and sweet to him, and he's smiling and talking by the time we're walking around, looking for something to sit on, the wind strong, and loud, and wet.

"So, your dad was asking me about your job search."

"He's too scared to ask me."

"Yeah, you're really scary."

"I know." I laugh. "So, what was he asking?"

"What you're looking for, if you've got any leads."

"Tell him I want to be a stripper, and that you think I've got what it takes."

"Be serious for a sec," Edward says.

"Fine."

"Rose told me you wanted to apply to her old program and volunteer this summer."

"Yeah... that was before you moved here."

"You should still apply," he tells me.

I shrug, and don't say anything.

"Is that something you're really interested in? You know my uncle can help out. He's been working for various NGOs for years—he can find something for you. I'll ask my dad, or you can ask Rose. He's a great guy."

"So why didn't Rose stay with him?" I ask.

"She didn't want to leave the country. She wanted to graduate high school here."

"I guess that makes sense."

"Yeah, anyway, you should apply, and when you're back, we'll figure—"

"I don't..."

"But Jane said—" I stop him.

"Jane loves making fun of me for wanting to help people. I know that's not a career, but I think it would be fun to do what Rose did and volunteer somewhere, maybe teach English, or something."

"Yeah. Yeah..."

It's cold. He warms me up by moving closer to me, and holding me, and rubbing my hands between his.

"I'll apply, too."

"Huh?"

"We'll go together," he explains.

"Yeah, okay."

"We'll find a way to go together. People do it all the time. Three months, right? Then we'll come back and I'll start school, and—"

"And I'll have no job to come back to."

"We'll figure it out. Come on."

"You don't have to do this," I tell him. "You don't have to do something you don't want to do. Like, I know you'd prefer to hang out and have fun before you go back to school."

"I don't want to go on an adventure with you? You're kidding, right?"

I look down and stare at our feet next to each other. Huge and small (but big for a girl). I kick the side of his sneaker and he kicks back. He nudges my leg with his and I nudge back.

"Let's go home and do this," he says.

"Okay. Yeah."

I've never had any dreams of us together in foreign countries, teaching or helping build things, or getting really dark because the sun is so bright. Maybe we'll get to go, maybe we won't, but I have a feeling about this, and it's going to be good. I'm excited about something that's not completely Edward-related for the first time in a long, long time. It feels good. I skip around a lot on our way to the car, he takes stupid pictures, I make sure I'm cute in them. We stop in front of the car and he doesn't let me go in. I'm in his arms, standing as close as you can stand to someone, looking up at his face, and there's a little bit of sun out, and he's handsome and happy, but I swear, I'm even happier.

"This," he says, "this, is perfect."

"Yeah, one sec."

I push him away and grab my bag from the back seat. I fumble through it until I find something Edward gave me years ago. He catches me when I almost trip over his feet as I'm getting out of the car. Standing in front of him, I pull him down towards me and place what I had found earlier in my room and decided to pack and bring back to Seattle with us on his head.

"What? You kept this?" he asks.

I nod and kiss him, and my calves hurt because he's tall, and I'm not, and I'm always standing on my toes to reach his mouth.

"Now, it's perfect."

**Ciaobella27, Lillybellis, and Spargelkun read this for me and gave some great feedback. Writeontime is my awesome beta. I'd like to thank all of them for putting up with me since I started this story. Also, Niki, Belle, the lovely ladies over at the gazebo, everyone who recc'd, pimped, made banners, tweeted updates, reviewed. All of you. Thanks so much.**

**I will be posting a bunch of EPOVs soon, so put me on alert if you are interested.  
**

**I had a great time writing this, and I hope you enjoyed it. I'd love to hear your final thoughts. **

**You guys are the very best.**

**xo**


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